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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663260">5 Times Stiles Thought He Was Losing His Mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeBlack/pseuds/LeeBlack'>LeeBlack</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wolves at Your Door [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Melissa is not a good nurse in this, Not Canon Compliant, Peter is confused, Seizures, Stiles is also confused, The Pack is Confused, a continuation of the accidental plot, and Scott is a bit not good too, and an angry tree, arboreal violence, but adding the tag here just in case, description of seizure, do not copy to another site, i don't think the violence is graphic, the author is hopefully not confused, very minor Leverage cameo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:02:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>37,491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663260</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeeBlack/pseuds/LeeBlack</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stiles?” Erica asked again, slowly walking toward him. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>He looked up at her, unable to keep the lost expression off his face. “Where am I?”</p>
<p>She stopped mid-step, eyes flaring bright gold. “What do you mean, where are you?”</p>
<p>Stiles scowled. “I mean, where the fuck am I?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wolves at Your Door [10]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720972</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1157</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Erica</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I am a creature borne of chaos. I have traversed the world and lived millennia. I have seen empires rise and engineered their fall, have waded through rivers of blood created by my own design. Your arrogance thinking you can keep me trapped in the rotting wood of a dying tree will be your downfall. I am no meek captive and I <strong>will</strong> christen my freedom with the final beats of your heart. I will devour your very -</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Stiles?”</em>
</p>
<p>Stiles jumped, the female voice pulling his focus. He frowned when he realized he wasn’t in his bedroom anymore.</p>
<p>No, he was standing in the middle of the woods. Wet leaves and cold dirt under his bare feet startled him even further, and he stared down at his feet, unable to understand how he got here. He curled his toes in the ground, the gritty sensation between his toes somehow reassuring.</p>
<p>“Stiles?” Erica asked again, slowly walking toward him. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>He looked up at her, unable to keep the lost expression off his face. “Where am I?”</p>
<p>She stopped mid-step, eyes flaring bright gold. “What do you mean, where are you?”</p>
<p>Stiles scowled. “I mean, where the fuck am I?”</p>
<p>“You’re in the Preserve. Like, way far in. We’re almost out to Beatty’s Creek,” she said, taking a small step toward him. “How’d you get out here?”</p>
<p>He shook his head, looking back down at the ground. “I don’t -”</p>
<p>“Shit, that’s not good.”</p>
<p>Stiles just stared at his feet, lost for words. He was in just his pajamas - a pair of boxers and a t-shirt worn so thin it was sheer in parts. His legs were covered in dirt and mud and hopefully no blood. He peeled a wet leaf from his thigh. “Is it still Thursday?”</p>
<p>“Not exactly,” Erica said, taking another small step toward him. “Friday. It’s like three in the morning. Are you hurt?”</p>
<p>“Dunno. I lost time.” He froze, a panicked gaze darting up to Erica. A lead weight dropped in his stomach. “<em>No</em>. I can’t be losing time! That’s not-”</p>
<p>“Stiles!” Erica barked.</p>
<p>He stared at her, breath coming in short, wheezing gasps. “I can’t-”</p>
<p>She darted forward, grabbing him by the shoulders, staring unblinkingly into his eyes. “I need to you not panic right now.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck -”</p>
<p>“Stiles, listen to me. You are human, in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night. I get that it’s freaking you out right now, but you need to shove the panic back for now,” she said. “We need to get you back home and we need to make sure you’re not hurt.”</p>
<p>“You’re a werewolf,” he said, voice almost shrill. “You can smell sick, right? Do I smell sick?”</p>
<p>“You smell like you’ve been running in mud,” Erica said. “Why the hell -” She stiffened, blood draining from her face and her grip tightening on Stiles for a painful few seconds. “I can’t smell dementia, Stiles,” she said. “We need to get you to people.”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded, eyes welling up suddenly. “Erica, I -”</p>
<p>“You are not going to panic in the middle of the woods with only me for emotional support, Stilinski,” she said, trying and failing to sound reassuring. “I am the worst emotional support werewolf you could pick. I smell blood on you. Is it your feet?”</p>
<p>He looked back down at his feet before shrugging. “I can’t tell.” He shuddered, a chill running down his spine. “I’m cold.”</p>
<p>“Shit.” She moved suddenly, shifting their positions so that she was carrying the bulk of Stiles’ weight, draping his arm over her shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. “We’ll try this for now, but if you’re hurt, I’ll pick you up and carry you back.”</p>
<p>Stiles just nodded again.</p>
<p>The two of them started off on a steady pace.</p>
<p>“You’re lucky I got antsy and went for a run,” Erica said quietly. “I almost missed that it was you until I heard your heartbeat. Just smelled like there might have been a fox around.”</p>
<p>“You know my heartbeat?”</p>
<p>She nodded. “Yours is faster than the other humans. Not by much, but it also beats on opposite counts,” she said. “Like, most of the other humans in town have a heartbeat on two and four. You’re on a one-three beat.” A momentary silence, and then she continued. “Boyd’s got a slow heartbeat. I’d bet even before he got Bit, he had a resting heartbeat of like ten beats a minute. I use it to focus when I meditate.”</p>
<p>Stiles huffed quietly.</p>
<p>“More homework from the counselor, in a way to try and mitigate the nightmares,” she said. “Don’t tell Boyd he’s my meditation beat.”</p>
<p>“No promises.”</p>
<p>She snorted. “Figures. You do strike me as the type to have blackmail info on everyone you know,” she said. “Derek’s got a normal heartbeat,” she added, going back to her conversation. “I’m pretty sure that if you dropped him into the middle of a crowd of people and hid his scent and face, I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of that crowd.” She grinned. “I bet Peter’s heartbeat is something appropriately dramatic. Like the Jaws theme song.”</p>
<p>Stiles offered her a weak smile. “Can we call him?”</p>
<p>“We can try, but I won’t get service until we get closer to the road,” she said, reaching over her shoulder and pulling her phone seemingly out of the ether. When Stiles frowned at her, she grinned. “My favorite sports bra. Has a pocket for the cellphone in the back straps.” She scowled down at the phone, tilting it so Stiles could see the screen. “No service, sorry.”</p>
<p>He was silent for a few minutes. “What about your heartbeat?” he asked.</p>
<p>She shrugged. “Arrhythmia that I had back before Derek Bit me,” she said. “It freaked Boyd out when he realized that the beats were off and there was a kind of flutter. Took me a good few minutes to get him to stop thinking I was hurt.”</p>
<p>“How’d you explain it to him?”</p>
<p>“Told him the whole butterflies in my stomach wasn’t the right metaphor, and I was working my way up to ask him out.” She grinned. “It took him until Dammit Janet before he realized I was fucking with him.”</p>
<p>“But it worked?”</p>
<p>Erica nodded. “Yep.”</p>
<p>A sudden shock of fear shot through Stiles. “And you’re really here, right? You’re not my brain fucking with me?”</p>
<p>Without warning, she pinched him right on the meat of his shoulder, just a bit too sharp to be just her fingernails.</p>
<p>“<em>Ow</em>, fuck!”</p>
<p>“See? I’m real,” she said. “If I was just a random construct of your brain, do you really think you’d hallucinate me pinching you?”</p>
<p>He hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Why were you telling me about heartbeats?”</p>
<p>She shrugged as much as she could without dislodging him. “Cause I thought it was working in getting you to not panic,” she said. “I’m putting up a good front, but somebody I care about smelling like blood and fear is bad enough. If you start panicking, I don’t know how well I’ll be able to handle it, and we definitely can’t afford to both be panicking in the woods in the middle of the night.”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded. “If I do start to panic, knock me out.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“I don’t do well with panic attacks. I either pass out or I lash out, and I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Last time my dad tried to help me out of a panic attack, I gave him a black eye.”</p>
<p>Erica looked over at Stiles. “You really think you can get the drop on me like that?”</p>
<p>He shook his head, gaze drifting back down to his still-trembling hands. “I don’t really want to take that chance.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” she said quietly. “If it comes down to that, I’ll make it quick.”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded again.</p>
<p>The two of them lapsed into a stilted silence as they continued through the woods.</p>
<p>After a long stretch of silence, longer than he expected of himself, Stiles frowned. “Where’s Rocky Horror Picture Show playing around here?”</p>
<p>“We went out close to Sacramento to see it as a midnight screening.”</p>
<p>“Did you dress up for it?”</p>
<p>Erica laughed. “I tried, but it was Boyd’s first time seeing it and he told me he’d ghost me if I showed up looking like Frank N Furter,” she said. “I think he was afraid that I’d try and force him into a Rocky costume, which was ridiculous. If we were going in a couple’s costume, it’d be Magenta and Riff Raff. You could pull off the doctor, I bet.”</p>
<p>Stiles snorted. “I’m clumsy enough as it is, and you want to put me in heels?” he asked.</p>
<p>She grinned over at him. “I can teach you if you want. What size shoe are you?”</p>
<p>“Ten or eleven.”</p>
<p>“Good,” she said, nodding. “You’ll be easier to find a good set of heels for. Boyd’s a thirteen. I’ve only been able to find one pair that would have fit him, and he’s got some objection to wearing pastel.”</p>
<p>“So do I,” Stiles said.</p>
<p>Erica huffed. “Boys. You lack any sort of courage when it comes to couture.”</p>
<p>Stiles laughed quietly, leaning more heavily against her. “I will fall and break my neck.”</p>
<p>“Good thing I’ve got supernatural reflexes,” she said. “Does that mean you’re in? I can have you trained in time for Halloween.”</p>
<p>Before he could answer, a sudden chime from Erica’s back rang out, the sound almost deafening in the otherwise silent woods. She pulled it out of her pocket, but before she checked the notification, she looked over at him. “This does not get you out of answering my question,” she said.</p>
<p>He smirked at her. “Anything urgent?”</p>
<p>“Just Boyd asking if I’m okay,” she said, quickly typing her response. “But that means I’ve got service right now. Still want to call Peter?”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded. “Please.”</p>
<p>She swiped over to a text conversation she had with him – the most recent messages seeming to be about waxing and v-necks.</p>
<p>“You talk to Peter?”</p>
<p>Erica shrugged a bit. “Sort of. Most of it ends up being my texting at him, and him only responding with particularly bitchy comebacks,” she said. “I can see why you like him.”</p>
<p>Stiles was silent for a few seconds. “It’s not weird, is it?” he asked.</p>
<p>“You better not be having some kind of identity crisis here, Stilinski. I remember you panting after Mahealani almost as much as you did Lydia,” she said. “Or do you ask every gay kid in school whether you’re attractive?”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “Not that. I mean, I know I’m not straight, and Dad doesn’t take me seriously about whatever I am, cause when he caught me at Jungle, he basically just brushed me off for my clothes. I mean, I wasn’t exactly there for clubbing or whatever, but still,” he said. “No, I meant the fact that Peter calls me his pet and takes care of me, and the fact that I like it and kind of really want to bone him.”</p>
<p>Erica was quiet for a long few seconds, clearly thinking about it as she and Stiles continued walking through the woods. “It’s weird, sure, but I don’t think it’s a bad sort of weird,” she said. “You’re both wicked smart and you know what you want. He didn’t dupe you into whatever your relationship is, did he?”</p>
<p>“He bought me dinner, after that lacrosse game from hell, but we’ve never exactly talked about it. I found out pretty much the whole thing about him calling me pet from Deucalion,” he said. “I’ve never felt manipulated into it, though.”</p>
<p>“Does he respect your boundaries?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t given him many, but he hasn’t pushed anything too far to make me feel uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“And if you said no, would he listen?”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded. “He already has.”</p>
<p>That clearly piqued her interest. “Really?”</p>
<p>He nodded again. “When we first found out that he was the Alpha running around, he offered me the Bite. I told him no.”</p>
<p>“And?”</p>
<p>“And he called me a liar when I said I didn’t want it, but he didn’t force the Bite on me.” He frowned. “He did bend the shit out of my car key, but he also paid for all Roscoe’s repairs after I drove her through the wall, so I’ve pretty much forgiven him for that.”</p>
<p>Erica offered him a small smile. “So you like him, and you feel safe with him?”</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>“And you’re eighteen, so you’re not doing anything illegal,” she said. “The age gap might seem a little weird to people, but who gives a fuck about them as long as you’re happy?”</p>
<p>Stiles hesitated.</p>
<p>“Stiles, in the past year, you’ve found out that werewolves are real, your best friend turned into a werewolf, you aided a temporarily fugitive pretty boy who absolutely <em>does not</em> give you the respect you deserve, and your high school nemesis turned into an evil goddamn Komodo dragon before you ran him over with your Jeep, killing him and giving him the chance to come back from the dead as a werewolf through the power of ginger love,” she said. “The fact that you’re part of a kink-friendly May-December romance doesn’t really rank all that high on the general scale of weird around here.”</p>
<p>He stared at her, shocked. He hadn’t thought about it that way, and with the way Erica laid it out, she made sense. His brain latched onto one of the last things she said. “What makes you think it’s a kink-friendly thing?”</p>
<p>Erica snorted, openly amused. “Setting aside the fact that I’ve met both of you, and I have a feeling you’re both allergic to vanilla, he calls you his pet and you like it. That’s at least kink light, and you haven’t even gotten in his pants yet. Unless there’s something you’re hiding from me?”</p>
<p>Stiles shook his head, huffing out a laugh. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” he said. “Not that there’s anything to tell.”</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t know that I believe you.”</p>
<p>“You’re the one with supernatural hearing, Catwoman. You should be able to tell whether or not I’m telling the truth.”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” she said, dragging the word out. “But I don’t have enough practice with that to be any good at it.” She grinned wickedly, gaze darting back to her phone as she scrolled through her contacts to find Peter.</p>
<p>“Creepy Uncle?” Stiles asked, catching a glimpse of the name she’d given him.</p>
<p>She laughed quietly. “Why, what do you have him as?”</p>
<p>Stiles flushed bright red.</p>
<p>“Nah, c’mon. What’s his name?”</p>
<p>He ducked his head. “Sexy Lazarus,” he muttered darkly.</p>
<p>“Well, that’s certainly an upgrade from Walking Dead,” Peter said dryly, his voice tinny through Erica’s speakerphone.</p>
<p>“Shit, <em>Erica,</em>” Stiles hissed. “The fuck is wrong with you?”</p>
<p>She shrugged. “I get bored easy. So, Uncle Peter,” she said. “What are you up to?”</p>
<p>“That answer is going to depend a great deal on why you and Stiles are calling me in the middle of the night,” Peter commented.</p>
<p>Erica looked over at Stiles, quirking an eyebrow.</p>
<p>Apparently their silence went on too long, because Peter sighed. “I would request that next time you call me, you have your alibis already established,” he said. “Where are you?”</p>
<p>“In the woods, coming pretty close to the service road by Beatty’s,” Erica said.</p>
<p>“Can your Batmobile make it out that far?” Stiles asked.</p>
<p>Peter paused briefly. “I can be there in thirty minutes.”</p>
<p>“There’s a speed trap three blocks from your place.”</p>
<p>“Thirty-five, then,” Peter said. “And I appreciate the forewarning, pet. Erica?”</p>
<p>“I’ll be here,” she said. “Might ask for a ride back.”</p>
<p>“We’ll see what condition you’re both in when I get there.”</p>
<p>“Can you bring a sweatshirt?” Stiles asked suddenly. “I’m cold.”</p>
<p>Peter made a quiet noise.</p>
<p>“And a blanket,” Erica prompted.</p>
<p>The older werewolf stayed silent for another few seconds. “Do either of you require medical services or need help disposing of a body?” he asked.</p>
<p>Stiles smirked at the phone. “Not tonight, but it’s kind of you to offer.”</p>
<p>Peter sighed. “Thirty-five minutes. Do try not to have that answer change in the interim.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Uncle Peter,” Erica said, ending the call. She looked over at Stiles as she put her phone back. “You don’t want to go to the hospital?”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “I’m going to cross my fingers and hope that this is just a new reaction to stress,” he said. “Besides, if I show up at the hospital, the nurses are going to clue my dad in.”</p>
<p>“But you’re eighteen, right?”</p>
<p>Stiles lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Drawback of being the kid of the sheriff in a relatively small town,” he said. “And dad’s my emergency contact, so he’d find out one way or another.”</p>
<p>Erica scowled.</p>
<p>“Please don’t,” Stiles said quietly.</p>
<p>She watched him for a long moment before nodding. “Alright.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p> Half an hour later, the bright LED lights of Peter’s Lexus appeared through the brush, momentarily blinding Stiles and Erica from their spots on the tree stump Erica had found. Stiles flinched at the light, just before they were turned off, and the car parked not too far from them.</p>
<p>“You okay?” Erica asked quietly.</p>
<p>Stiles nodded. “Too bright too quick,” he said, slowly standing up.</p>
<p>Peter sauntered out of the darkness, watching the two of them with neon blue eyes. “Evening,” he said, tone deliberately casual.</p>
<p>“Howdy,” Stiles said, going for blatantly false cheer. “Nice night, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“It was,” Peter said, tossing a sweater to him. “And then I was summoned out to the middle of the woods by my darling pet and the blonde.”</p>
<p>“The blonde?” Erica asked, standing up and approaching Peter. “I don’t even get my name?”</p>
<p>Peter looked over at her. “You’re the one who called me at three in the morning, doll. Consider yourself lucky I answered the phone.”</p>
<p>That pulled a genuine smile from her and she darted in to give him a quick hug. “Thanks, Uncle Peter,” she said.</p>
<p>He quirked an eyebrow at her but didn’t move to push her away. “Bold.”</p>
<p>She grinned up at him, stepping back.</p>
<p>“This is really soft,” Stiles said, pulling the sweater on and meandering over toward Peter.</p>
<p>“Cashmere tends to be, yes,” he said, offering an arm to Stiles. “Why are you barefoot in the woods in the middle of the night?”</p>
<p>Stiles shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about that right now,” he said. He walked into the embrace, burying his head into Peter’s shoulder. “I meant like a hoodie, you freak, not cashmere.” And then, a few seconds later, “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Of course, pet.” Peter looked over at Erica. “And you?”</p>
<p>She shrugged. “I don’t know the full story. I was just out for a late night run and we happened on each other,” she said. “Very casually.”</p>
<p>Peter smirked. “As one often does at three in the morning, in the middle of the Preserve.”</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Erica said with a decisive nod. “Since we’re all on the same page about this, can I get a ride back to the main road, or are you going to be a dick about this?”</p>
<p>Peter hummed. “One of those does come rather naturally to me.”</p>
<p>She sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “One little ride back to the main road, and I’ll owe you.”</p>
<p>“You already do.” He gave her a quick once-over. “You’re not covered in too much debris.” He glanced down at Stiles, whose face was still burrowed into Peter’s shoulder. “Pet.”</p>
<p>Stiles looked up at him. “I can take the back seat. Did you bring a blanket?”</p>
<p>Peter nodded. “That fleece one you like. It’s in the back seat.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he said. “Erica’s cool. She helped.”</p>
<p>Erica visibly brightened at that, grinning at Stiles. “Thanks, boo,” she said. “If you’re calling backseat, does that mean I get shotgun?”</p>
<p>Peter rolled his eyes. “Try not to shed. I don’t want bottle blonde hair on my leather seats.”</p>
<p>She laughed at that. “Nice try, but it’s natural,” she said, flouncing over to the car and opening the passenger’s side door.</p>
<p>“I’m sure,” Peter said. He looked down at Stiles. “Are you alright?”</p>
<p>Stiles shrugged. “If I was to pack a bag and crash with you for a few days, would you be pissed?”</p>
<p>“Of course not.” Peter tightened his hold on Stiles for a second before loosening it. “Is that what you want to do?”  </p>
<p>He nodded. “I can let my dad know I’m with a friend.”</p>
<p>Peter let out a low rumble in an attempt to comfort Stiles. “You know you’re always welcome,” he said.</p>
<p>Stiles hummed. “I’m gonna need to take you up on that offer, I think.”</p>
<p>Peter pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “Get in the car, pet. I don’t want to keep my car in the woods all night.”</p>
<p>He nodded, grinning, and clambered into the car.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Two hours later, much closer to dawn, Peter woke with a bit of a start when the other side of his bed dipped down a bit.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Stiles said quietly, sounding uncharacteristically timid.</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Can I sleep with you? Not, like, in a sex way, but in a sleeping way?” Stiles asked, creeping further onto the bed.</p>
<p>Peter hummed again, quickly falling back into a state of half-asleep wakefulness. “I cuddle.”</p>
<p>Stiles snorted. “Not a secret, dude,” he said. “We’ve crashed together before.”</p>
<p>“Mm. So you won’t be surprised.”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>Without warning, Peter snatched a handful of the t-shirt Stiles had changed into and pulled the younger man onto the bed. When Stiles fell forward with a quiet yelp, he snorted a sleepy laugh and wrapped his arms around Stiles, pulling him close. “Your meds?”</p>
<p>“My phone’s already on the dresser,” Stiles said, his voice muffled by the pillow as he shifted around to get more comfortable.</p>
<p>Peter let out a sleepy rumble. “Of course, pet.”</p>
<p>“Kinda love you,” Stiles said, before exhaustion took him. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Deputy Parrish</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Forty-five minutes later, Stiles found himself in the depths of the Preserve. This time, though, he was well aware how he got there. As soon as he’d left TeaTomes, he drove out to one of the visitor’s lots and headed into the woods, book and dessert in hand. He seemed to know almost exactly where he was going, traipsing through the Preserve and paying no regard to the trail or the few other people he passed by.</p><p>He ducked under a low-hanging branch and found himself facing a clearing with a large tree stump in the center of it.</p><p>Something about the stump drew him in, and Stiles found himself walking toward it before consciously deciding to do so.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles found himself back in TeaTomes, flipping almost absently through an art book, an extra-large coffee on the table next to him. He wasn’t sure what exactly had drawn him to the book, but he was oddly drawn to the Heian-period art. Something about it spoke to him – one piece in particular.</p><p>A sudden flash of movement from his right startled him almost violently out of his chair.</p><p>“Calm down, Stilinski. It’s just me.”</p><p>Stiles righted himself and looked up at the newcomer. “Hey Eliot.”</p><p>The older man grinned down at him. “Didn’t know you were all that interested in Japanese art,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the edge of the book.</p><p>He shrugged. “Was I looking at the book too long? I can buy it.”</p><p>“Nah,” Eliot said, setting down a small plate with some kind of pastry on it. “You’re good. You buy enough coffee here, I’m willing to give you a pass.” </p><p>“And food?”</p><p>Eliot grinned. “I’ve been trying a few new recipes, but my two taste-testers are biased, so I figure you might be willing to give me your opinion.”</p><p>Stiles looked at the plate. The pastry looked delicious, and he was half tempted to take a bite right away. “Why me?”</p><p>“Because I’ve seen you in this place more often this summer than I have for a handful of years now,” he said. “And the blind guy who was in here with you last month placed an order large enough that it’ll keep this place running for six months without any other customers.”</p><p>“So this is just a bribe?”</p><p>“Consider it a promotion to honorary taster as a sign of my gratitude,” he said. “We don’t get British visitors in here all that often.”</p><p>Stiles watched Eliot for a moment before nodding. “I can live with that. What is it?”</p><p>“Hazelnut cappuccino rugalach,” he said. “Drizzled on top with a chocolate-cinnamon glaze.”</p><p>“You’re giving me a caffeinated dessert?” Stiles asked, a grin coming over his face.</p><p>“Mess up that book and you <em>will</em> be buying it,” he said, once again tapping at the corner of the book. “But otherwise you’ve been a good kid around here. I also want to thank you for not using my WiFi for anything illegal.”</p><p>Stiles snorted, unable to stop himself. “It’s a public IP address, Eliot. That shit would fuck you over and you’re a decent dude. Even if you have weird taste.”</p><p>Eliot barked out a quiet laugh. “You’re the one looking at 12th century Japanese art over your summer break. You don’t have a whole lot of room to talk, Stilinski.”</p><p>The doorbell rang as someone else walked into the shop.</p><p>Eliot turned, frowning slightly as a young man in a uniform walked in and headed toward the café. “I’ll be right with you, man,” he called. “If you’re really interested in this stuff, I can reach out to my brother. I don’t know if he’s got a whole lot of knowledge about Japanese art specifically, but he’s one of the top art experts in the world,” he said.</p><p>Stiles looked back down at the picture he’d fixated on. “Maybe,” he found himself saying. “He got a card or something?”</p><p>“He’s got a handful of emails at the universities where he’s got his Ph.Ds. and honorary degrees,” Eliot said. “If you look up Dr. Jacob Stone, you should be able to find most of them, but I should have his direct number in the back office.”</p><p>“That might be helpful. Is he gonna be pissed if I call him?”</p><p>Eliot shook his head. “He’s kind of a globetrotter, so he might not be able to get back with you right away. But I’m guessing if you’re looking at nine hundred year old Japanese art, it’s not an urgent matter?”</p><p>Stiles shook his head, openly amused. “Not currently, no.”</p><p>That pulled a laugh out of Eliot. “Good kid. Let me know how the rugalach turns out,” he said.</p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles said. He reached for the pastry as Eliot walked away, sniffing it almost suspiciously. He couldn’t smell anything other than hazelnut and cinnamon. An equally suspicious nibble later, he almost melted onto the table. It was delicious – and it didn’t take long until he’d devoured the entire thing.</p><p>Once it was gone, Stiles turned back to the book. The caption mentioned something about the Tale of the Heike.</p><p>
  <em>Such chaos. Two clans battling for control, men dying. War is so ripe. Like a fresh bunch of sato nishiki, grown plump on the tree. Conflict sows such sweet fruits, such sumptuous plunder.</em>
</p><p>“Hey, you’re the Sheriff’s kid, right?”</p><p><em>That mortal impudence <strong>dares</strong> hold me captive is unspeakable. I will wreak such violence upon those arrogant souls, and they will learn that their prosperity will last only until my freedom is won. He will </em>–</p><p>“Stilinski?”</p><p>Stiles jumped, staring with wide eyes up at the uniformed officer standing beside his table. “Yeah?” he asked.</p><p>“Your dad didn’t tell me you were so into art,” the man said. He was younger than most of the officers, and he hadn’t called Stiles by his nickname – had to be one of the new hires. “New fascination?”</p><p>He shrugged. “It’s more interesting than playing through Call of Duty for the fifth time,” he said, hoping to come off as nonchalant. “Who are you?”</p><p><em>This one is ripe. Young, but touched by war. He could be a fine instrument of chaos. Not quite the spark to start the wildfire, but certainly the hound to carry it as far as my captors have attempted to hide. I will see them burn </em>–</p><p>“Jordan Parrish,” the man said, offering Stiles his hand. “Your dad hired me as one of his deputies last week.”</p><p>Stiles stared at the hand for a moment before taking it. The grip didn’t seem too tight, but that disembodied voice seemed to almost purr at the contact. “I guess you already know who I am?”</p><p>Jordan nodded. “Your dad talked about you a bit, yeah,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d see you in this place, though.”</p><p>“Why not?” Stiles asked, pulling his hand back and wrapping it around his coffee cup almost self-consciously.</p><p>The older man flushed red. “He said you had some trouble the last few months of school, and that you’d be spending most of it at home, refocusing yourself,” he said. “But I guess a bookshop is a good place to find that focus.”</p><p><em>Impudence. Arrogance. I have tortured worthier men for far less. Attempting to smother the warming embers of a young fire is an act not to be forgiven</em>.</p><p>Stiles ducked his head, his ears burning red with embarrassment. So much for family privacy, then. “Sure,” he said. “Bookstores are second to libraries in seeking knowledge,” he said, standing up. He closed the book, the weight of it making a louder ‘thud’ than he’d expected, and he flinched a bit, not wanting to attract any more attention than he already had. “Nice to meet you, or whatever.” He carried the book over to the café counter, ducking his head a bit when Eliot gave him a look.</p><p>“Everything okay, Stiles?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“He bothering you?”</p><p>Stiles shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Figured I’d buy the book after all.”</p><p>Eliot nodded. “Sounds like a plan, kid,” he said. “Thirty bucks, and I need to know what you thought of the pastry.”</p><p>He grinned, grateful for the man’s complete lack of care about the deputy sheriff still lingering by Stiles’ newly deserted table. “The book has a sticker for fifty bucks.”</p><p>“Consider it a taster’s discount,” Eliot said.</p><p>“Dude, I will eat whatever you put in front of me,” he said. “That thing was awesome.”</p><p>Eliot quirked his lips up into an awkward smile. “Glad to hear it,” he said. “Might add them to the menu if that’s the case.”</p><p>Stiles nodded. “Definitely the case,” he said. “Any chance you’ve got extras that I can buy?”</p><p>“A high compliment. I’ve got about a dozen left over in the kitchen,” he said. “How many do you want?”</p><p>“Gimme six,” Stiles said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and grabbing his cash. “Thirty for the book and how much for the rugalach?”</p><p>“Forty even for everything,” Eliot said.</p><p>Stiles frowned slightly. “You sure?”</p><p>“Kid, this is my place. If I want to give you a discount, that’s my prerogative,” he said. “You still want my brother’s number?”</p><p>He hesitated briefly. “Can I come back for it? I’m just kind of looking at the pictures right now.”</p><p>Eliot nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Any time that changes, swing on by. Jake loves talking about art, so there’s no expiration date on that offer.”</p><p>“Sweet.” Stiles handed over the cash, frowning slightly at the look Eliot shot over Stiles’ shoulder. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Eliot said. “Wait here and I’ll pop your pastries into a box. Do me a favor and toss your coffee.”</p><p>“My coffee?”</p><p>He nodded. “You left it on the table, but you turned your back on it and there’s a deputy staring at it,” he said. “Don’t ever trust a drink you’ve turned your back on.”</p><p>Stiles stared at him, brow furrowing in confusion, but nodded anyway. “Sure thing, Eliot.”</p><p>…</p><p>Forty-five minutes later, Stiles found himself in the depths of the Preserve. This time, though, he was well aware how he got there. As soon as he’d left TeaTomes, he drove out to one of the visitor’s lots and headed into the woods, book and dessert in hand. He seemed to know almost exactly where he was going, traipsing through the Preserve and paying no regard to the trail or the few other people he passed by.</p><p>He ducked under a low-hanging branch and found himself facing a clearing with a large tree stump in the center of it.</p><p>Something about the stump drew him in, and Stiles found himself walking toward it before consciously deciding to do so.</p><p>He settled against the stump and flipped the book back open, returning to the same page as before. He quickly found himself lost in the picture, taking in each and every detail the page had to offer.</p><p><em>Chaos is the law of nature, and there is such delight in thwarting human attempts to shape it into a semblance of order</em>.</p><p>Stiles hummed. Not agreeing with the voice, not entirely, but there was an odd comfort in the deep, rumbling tone. He shifted to get more comfortable, resting his head on the stump and sprawling out on top of the branches. It was oddly comfortable.</p><p>
  <em>There is such chaos in your bones, spark. We could sow such beautiful discord if you become my devotee. Chaos finds such safe haven in fire, and we could create a ferocious yama kaji. </em>
</p><p>He hummed again, closing his eyes.</p><p>A quiet chittering sound echoed around the clearing, and, as he relaxed even further, he had the strangest sensation that something furry had curled up on top of the stump, resting its muzzle against the crown of his head.</p><p>It struck him that he probably ought to be panicking about this. Or at the very least, less calm. Auditory hallucinations could be scratched up as stress, even if that was pushing it, but progressing to a tactile hallucination was harder to excuse.</p><p>Still, there was an odd sense of comfort to whatever was surrounding him, draping him in a sort of warmth that had him contented enough to close his eyes and relax into the pseudo-embrace.</p><p>As he faded into a restful sleep, he fell further into the embrace, the chittering becoming something more like purring.</p><p>
  <em>You have such potential in you, spark. We could do great things together, god and disciple. Rest easy, spark. You have heard me and been receptive, and I will watch over you. You will sleep safe under my guard.</em>
</p><p>…</p><p>He woke with a start when a shrill ringing cut through the silence, and it took a moment for him to recognize his cellphone ringing. He scrambled to find it, but the roots surrounding him obscured his sight.</p><p>When he finally found his phone, he froze.</p><p>He’d fallen asleep on the ground. Not under it.</p><p>“Shit,” he muttered. “Shit, shit. Not again.”</p><p>He grabbed his phone, somewhat relieved to find that it was only an hour and a half since he’d come out to the Preserve. At the very least, he hadn’t lost six hours like the last time. And he still had cell service. A fact that was only slightly reassuring when he noticed that he had several text messages and three missed calls. One from Erica, which was no doubt followed by at least two of the text messages. One from Peter, and the most recent one from his father.</p><p>“Huh.” His father had come home for the night about a week ago and they’d shared a very stilted conversation before Stiles had gone out, using the excuse that he was going to see a movie. That the movie had been watched at Peter’s place was beside the point. For a few minutes, at the beginning of the conversation, Stiles had hoped for some kind of improvement, only for the Sheriff to mention that he had several upcoming trips out to other parts of the county to check on the other offices and do some hiring interviews, so he’d be in and out of town for the next few weeks.  </p><p>His fear was momentarily allayed by his curiosity as he got a new text notification. He shifted around, leaning against one of the sturdier roots, and opened his phone to see what came through.</p><p>As he’d expected, two of the texts were from Erica asking if he was okay and if he wanted to join her and Boyd for wing night the next night. Another two from Boyd, extending his own invite and then following it up with a reassurance that there was no pressure to the invite. One from Peter, asking if Stiles was still planning on forcing him to watch Sharknado, and if so, what time he was coming over to inflict that torture.</p><p>The final text was from his father. <em>Chris Argent came by the station to let me know he and his daughter are back in town. Don’t give him any reason to threaten a restraining order against you again</em>.</p><p>Stiles frowned. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, but still. He sent a quick reply acknowledging his father’s text, and then flipped on the flashlight app and looked around.</p><p>
  <em>You see the constraints of my prison, spark. I have been held here for centuries. Betrayed by one of my own kind and then trapped by humans meddling in depths far beyond their ken. But you, darling embers, will stoke the flames of my freedom.</em>
</p><p>Stiles pulled in a deep breath, doing his best to reassure himself that what he was about to do wasn’t a bad idea.</p><p>He’d woken up from somewhere he, without a doubt, had <em>not</em> fallen asleep, and he’d been hearing a voice talking about destruction and being held prisoner for a few weeks now.</p><p>He hissed out a breath, scrubbing his hand over his head. “For the sake of my sanity, we’re going to pretend that I’m still asleep and this is all part of a really weird, fucked up dream,” he said, standing up as much as he could and turning around, doing his best to cast the phone’s light around him. “But am I alone in this creepy fucking root cellar?”</p><p>The shadows seemed to ripple around the light, coming alive in a way that set Stiles’ hair on edge. An echo of the chittering sounded in the otherwise dead silence surrounding Stiles.</p><p><em>You acknowledge my presence, as you have heard my words and proven yourself receptive to my sentiments</em>.</p><p>“Are you a hallucination?”</p><p>Another chittering as the shadows continued to shift at the far side of the cellar. <em>I am no creation of an ill and decaying mind</em>.</p><p>“See, that’s exactly what a hallucination would say,” Stiles said. He pulled in a shaky breath. “Do you intend to kill me?”</p><p>
  <em>You have proven a receptive ear, and you have allowed me to show you my prison. There is a potential in you that I can taste. I would have you use that potential to deliver me my freedom. And, in that freedom, the blood of those responsible for my continued isolation.</em>
</p><p>“Okay,” Stiles said slowly. “I’m not saying that I don’t want to help you, because I’m pretty sure that would end up with me trapped down here with you until I do end up deciding to help you,” he said, only to be answered by a quiet, echoing cackle. “But right now I’m in a place that I don’t remember coming into, and I’ve got no idea how to leave, so can we maybe revisit this conversation in some other place? Like maybe my house?”</p><p>
  <em>You would invite me inside?</em>
</p><p>He shrugged. “I would be more inclined if I didn’t wake up not knowing where I was or how I got there.”</p><p> <em>Boundaries established by a disciple can be respected. I will not lead your soul without your consciousness again</em>.</p><p>“Thanks.” He looked around, squinting into the shadows. “How do I get out of here?”</p><p>To that, he got no answer.</p><p>Stiles sighed. Keeping his phone light on, he started moving around the roots, looking for a way out.</p><p>It took him longer than he wanted to find the intertwining roots that he could crawl over to escape the cellar. He squinted at the bright light as crawled out of the roots and got to his feet.</p><p>As he stood up and looked around, he found nothing out of the ordinary. He’d been underneath the same tree trunk he’d fallen asleep against – his book and untouched bag of pastries were on the ground where he’d fallen asleep.</p><p>Birds were chirping in the trees, and if he listened hard enough, Stiles could hear people talking, no doubt using the trail. A dog barked in the distance, and he found himself calm at the reassurance that he wasn’t so far away from civilization as the last time.</p><p>It felt almost like the conversation had happened in some kind of dream. He glanced down at the roots. </p><p>His phone rang in his hands again and he startled slightly, though relaxed again when he saw that it was Peter calling. “Yeah?”</p><p>“There are <em>five</em> of these movies?” Peter asked archly. “How many times can computer-animated sharks fall from the sky and have it classified as entertainment?”</p><p>Stiles grinned. “It’s a classic series,” he said, picking up the book and the pastry bag. “I can pick up a bag of gummy sharks on my way over, just to make sure you’ve got the full experience?”</p><p>Peter snorted. “I think not. I’ll order pizza when you get here.”</p><p>“Sweet. I’m heading your way now, so I’ll see you soon.”</p><p>“Of course, pet.”  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>(let's pretend this is still within the week, and not a day over that little self-imposed deadline)</p><p>also, wasn't entirely planning on going for a Leverage cameo (with a little sprinkle of the Librarians on top - as long as we ignore that Stiles watched the tv show in one of the earlier pieces), but a comment the last time we visited TeaTomes kind of sparked that idea, and it got away from me when I started writing this piece (thank you ForeverAlone5!)</p><p>same timeline is in place for the next chapter (in trying to have it up within the week)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Isaac (and Boyd)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I am still asleep,” Stiles declared quietly, his voice still thick with sleep. “This is a dream.”</p><p>“If you’d like,” came the smooth, slightly accented reply.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Several days later, Stiles woke up from a dead sleep, eyes fixated on the floor underneath his window. It was almost pitch black in his room, which was unusual. Either the safety lights out on the street had all burnt out, or some supernatural bullshit was at play.</p><p>His fear was confirmed when he heard an all-too-familiar chittering from the spot he was staring at.</p><p>“I am still asleep,” Stiles declared quietly, his voice still thick with sleep. “This is a dream.”</p><p>“If you’d like,” came the smooth, slightly accented reply.</p><p>Stiles frowned. “You’re actually talking out loud.”</p><p>A quiet laughter, and then, a weight on the end of his bed as something crawled up onto it. “This is your dream.”</p><p>As his eyes slowly adjusted, he was somewhat able to make out the shape of some kind of animal sitting on the edge of his bed. A very large animal. A very lupine-looking animal. “Are you here to eat me?”</p><p>“That would be a very poor dream for you,” the animal said. Its eyes flashed an eerie silver-white, and Stiles flinched back when he caught the glimpse of very shiny, very sharp fangs as it opened its maw and let out a chittering laugh. “And a waste of a perfectly tantalizing disciple.”</p><p>Stiles flinched again and slowly sat up, bracing himself against the wall. For once, he was very happy that his father wasn’t home – and hopefully Peter wouldn’t drop by to see this. ‘This’ being either Stiles caught in the grip of a terrifying dream, or at the mercy of a hostile supernatural creature. “How did you get in to talk to me in person instead of doing your terrifying auditory hallucination talking?”</p><p>The animal hummed. “When is a door not a door?”</p><p>“What?” Stiles asked. He darted a glance toward his door – still shut, otherwise he’d have the benefit of the faint glow of the hallway nightlight, and hopefully it was still locked. Not that he knew anyone who was inclined to use the door instead of the window –</p><p>His head snapped to the window, eyes narrowing when he thought he could see that it wasn’t closed completely shut as it had been when he’d gone to sleep. “When it’s ajar?” he asked wryly, belatedly recognizing the riddle. </p><p>The animal laughed quietly, this time sounding less hostile. It let out a yawn and stretched forward to sprawl out on the bed, resting a massive head against Stiles’ leg. “Such a clever little ember,” it said. “You were such a delightful find, a glowing coal amongst a bucket of mundane rocks.” It leaned its head more heavily against Stiles’ leg. “I can smell the fire in your soul.”</p><p>Stiles nodded slightly. “This is still a dream.”</p><p>“As you say,” it said, and Stiles had the distinct impression that it was licking its chops.</p><p>“And I’ve got your word you’re not going to eat me?”</p><p>“I would not waste my energy to seek out a disciple only to devour him upon sight.”</p><p>Stiles nodded again. Curiosity getting the better of him, he extended the hand not clutching his blanket, reaching toward the creature, his body trembling with something between caution and fear. “So if I touch you right now,” he started before trailing off, not entirely sure what he’d meant to say.</p><p>The creature laughed again and pressed a cool, damp nose into Stiles’ palm before nudging that hand toward its head, letting out a sound akin to a purr as Stiles dug his fingers into surprisingly plush fur. “You have heard me, proven yourself willing to listen, and you saw my prison. You have earned my favor,” it said. “So I have come to you, rather than leading your soul to me. It has been far too long since I held in my possession such an intriguing acolyte.”</p><p>“You don’t possess me,” Stiles said, almost obstinately.</p><p>“Not yet, perhaps.”</p><p>Stiles snorted.</p><p>“You doubt my prowess, spark?” it asked, perking its head up. “I have survived for millennia and hold in my ear the power to reduce you to naught but kindling.” It twitched its ear very pointedly.</p><p>“I don’t doubt that,” Stiles said, reaching over to pet the ear in question. “But I’m not just some brainless idiot who’s going to sacrifice their soul just become some shiny new supernatural critter comes along spouting pretty words.”</p><p>“Clever little mortal.”</p><p>Stiles hummed slightly, distracted by the creature’s fur. “I know names have power, so I’m betting you’re not gonna tell me your name,” he said, only to be answered by an affirmative rumbling. “Will you tell me what you are? Other than some kind of god?”</p><p>It was silent for another moment, eyes flashing white as it lifted its head a bit – not enough to dislodge Stiles’ hand, but enough to meet his eyes. “Some kind of god, yes,” he said. “Though your mortal kind would be more likely to call me a spirit. I have been alive for a thousand years and possess nine tails.”</p><p>He relaxed a bit, racking his brain for any scrap of information that would be helpful.</p><p>The creature watched him almost patiently, only nudging his hand when he ceased petting him.</p><p>“Not a wolf,” Stiles said almost absently. “And you’ve got an accent.”</p><p>“Do you need another hint, <em><span>wakai hi</span></em>?”</p><p>Stiles stilled at the foreign words. “Japanese?” he inquired.</p><p>It leaned back, opening its gaping maw in a mockery of a grin. “Would you walk with me, spark? It is a lovely night under the new moon.”</p><p>“Will you show me your tails?”</p><p>That brought back the chittering laugh and a vague movement that might have been at least one tail flicking behind the creature. “Free me from my prison and I will bestow upon you the privilege of seeing all of my tails.”</p><p>“And surviving to keep that knowledge?” Stiles asked, smirking slightly.</p><p>“And yet again you prove yourself a worthy disciple with your intelligence. Will you walk with me?”</p><p>Stiles hesitated for a moment. “Will I survive this walk?”</p><p>“You already have my word that I will not eat you.”</p><p>Stiles rolled his eyes. “Right, because that’s the <em>only</em> way you could kill me,” he said, before coming to the realization that it perhaps wasn’t the smartest idea to be a smartass to the demigod on his bed. He swallowed thickly, slightly mollified by the amusement he felt practically radiating from the creature. “I mean, it’s not like that mouth full of fangs is just for show.”</p><p>It barked out a loud laugh. “Indeed not. They have tasted the blood of thousands of men throughout my life.”</p><p>“See, that’s not really reassuring.”</p><p>“I am not inclined to take your blood without an offering,” it said.</p><p>“Okay,” Stiles said slowly. He got out of the bed, feeling his way to his computer chair to grab the jeans he’d been wearing earlier that day. “Not that I don’t appreciate that, but why not?”</p><p>“Blood has power, but so does intent. I have made use of blood unwillingly given, but it does not compare to the sheer power inlaid in blood freely offered,” it said.</p><p>“And you want me to offer you mine, is that what I’m getting?” Stiles asked. He clumsily managed to pull his jeans on over his boxers and grabbed his red hoodie from on top of his desk.</p><p>The creature stood off the bed and walked over to stand next to Stiles. Its head came up almost to his shoulders, only reinforcing how massive it was. “My freedom would be greatly aided by such an offer, but I will not try to steal it from you,” it said. “Should you choose to honor me with an offering, I would put you under my protection.”</p><p>Stiles shrugged into his hoodie and looked over at the creature. “Would I get my own tail?”</p><p>Another chittering laugh as it followed Stiles downstairs. “A tail is a very precious gift, spark, and I will not grant it to the unworthy.”</p><p>“But it’s possible, is what you’re saying?” Stiles asked. When he reached the kitchen, he shot a quick look into the living room out of habit and, upon finding it empty, let out a sigh of relief. He headed to the back door and unlocked it, holding it open for the creature. As it walked past him, Stiles got a better look at the creature. “Holy shit, you’re the biggest fox I’ve ever seen,” he breathed out.</p><p>“And will ever see, I wager.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at the fox as it turned around to face him, watching through glowing white eyes. “Have you figured me out, spark?”</p><p>“Kitsune,” he said hesitantly, certain of his answer but not the fox’s reaction. “But not a regular kitsune. The bestiaries I’ve read don’t say anything about silver teeth and white eyes. Unless that’s some weird side effect of you being held prisoner?”</p><p>The fox made a quiet sound akin to a purr. “It is not. Lock your feeble wooden door, spark. My patience is not eternal and it has been far too long since I walked with a disciple.”</p><p>Stiles nodded and did as told, scrambling after the fox when it started walking toward the back fence.</p><p>…</p><p>They walked in silence for several minutes, Stiles stumbling over the uneven soil a few times before reaching out and digging a hand into the fox’s ruff, momentarily content to let it lead the way. “So, what is this, exactly? Just a casual meander in the woods, disciple and demigod?” he asked after a few minutes.</p><p>“I understand it’s uncommon for mortals to have questions when in the presence of a god, and I am curious what you might come up with,” it said.</p><p>“Is this something you do often? Taking your disciples on walks?”  </p><p>“Centuries ago, perhaps. The boldest of my disciples never feared walking with me,” it said. “In more recent times, disciples have been harder to find. There are those that sought my favor in the hopes that I would take action at their behest. Without making the appropriate sacrifices.”</p><p>Stiles flinched at that. “Are you expecting me to make some kind of sacrifice to you?”</p><p>The fox rumbled. “Should you honor me with such a privilege, I would be a fool to turn it down,” it said, turning its head to the side just enough for Stiles to catch a glimpse of amused silver eyes. “Though I have sought you out for your assistance, so I will not require it of you.”</p><p>The teenager nodded. “And on that note. Why’d you seek me out?”</p><p>“There is a scent about you that has settled into the woods surrounding my prison. Embers on a young fire. It had my claws unsheathed for the first time in centuries, with the hope that you would be willing to provide the assistance I need to win my freedom.” It rumbled again. “Your willingness to listen and see has been a refreshing change from the ignorance of those who would see me waste away in a prison of rotting wood.”</p><p>Stiles hesitated for a moment. “Is it gonna change me?”</p><p>The fox shifted a bit, pressing almost flush against Stiles. “Change is part of all things, spark. You have opened your mind to me, and as such you have already changed.” It stopped walking, turning to fully face Stiles. “You will not turn into a fox, if that is your concern, but should you agree to help, you will be changed. It is not in my nature to leave my disciples unchanged and vulnerable to the sort of persecution they have face in centuries past.”</p><p>“Will I still be human?”</p><p>“The core of you will remain as you are. I possess the power and the skill necessary to change you further, should you wish it, but that will require a sacrifice of you,” it said. “And it would be a drastic change, spark. You would be removed from your wolves, and your humanity twisted into other.”</p><p>Stiles jolted at that. “I like being human.”</p><p>A quiet almost-purr, and the sudden force of an enormous fox butting its head against Stiles’ chest took him completely by surprise. Stiles was only able to stay on his feet by digging his hands into the thick fur around the fox’s neck and holding tight. “You are truly delightful, spark. You are an exquisite mortal, and I find myself inclined to keep you that way.” It curled around Stiles, the sheer force of its body taking Stiles off his feet, and finally settled its large head in Stiles’ lap. “I expect you will continue to prove yourself, even as a human, and I will be watching you even after my freedom.”</p><p>“I haven’t agreed to help you get out.”</p><p>“Not yet, perhaps,” it said, sounding entirely confident. “But you have joined me in the woods under a new moon, and you have not yet declined to help me. Imprisonment is grating, but there is a scent of hope in your embers.” It rumbled again. “Allow me a few minutes rest. It has been years since I have had pleasant company beside me and fresh air in my lungs.”</p><p>Stiles hesitated for a moment before nodding. “We’ll be safe?” he asked, even as he shifted around to get more comfortable. “You’re sure we’ll be safe?”</p><p>The fox let out another of its purring sounds. “Imprisoned though I may be, I am by far the most dangerous creature in these woods. None will trouble us this night.”</p><p>…</p><p>Stiles startled awake when he felt the sudden feel of bony fingers poking his face.</p><p>“Are you <em>dead</em>, Stilinski?”</p><p>Isaac. Wonderful.</p><p>Stiles groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face and doing his best to ignore the taste of particularly rancid morning breath in his mouth. “Not dead,” he said. “What d’you care, anyway?”</p><p>Silence answered that question.</p><p>Stiles peeled his eyes open, glaring up at the taller teenager. Who looked much taller right now, which was disconcerting.</p><p>“I’m not the one sleeping in the woods like some demented feral child, Stilinski,” he said, though the blatant concern on his face tempered any of the usual tone Isaac used when talking to Stiles. “What the hell are you doing out here?”</p><p>“Sleeping in the woods,” Stiles grouched, slowly making his way up to his feet. He hadn’t remembered falling asleep against a tree trunk, but he found himself grateful for it as he ambled upwards. “Like some demented feral child, apparently.”</p><p><em>I kept my word, spark. None troubled us throughout the night, but my chains become much more rigid during daylight. I am here, as much as I am able, and will do what I can to keep you safe, my cherished disciple</em>.</p><p>Stiles relaxed a bit at the voice and did his best to send a mental thanks to the fox. “What do you care? It’s not like you give a damn about me.”</p><p>Isaac scowled at that. “I give a damn,” he said quietly.</p><p>Stiles snorted, taking a few steps and looking around. “I don’t know when Scott’s coming back,” he said. He did his best to figure out where he was, and how to get back to his house. “He’s still being an asshole to me, so you’re gonna have to figure him out all by yourself, like a big boy werewolf.”</p><p>“Stiles –” Isaac started, before cutting himself off. He crossed his arms over his chest, letting out a not-quite human grumble. “Look, I didn’t track you down just to be a dickhead to you.”</p><p>“Nah, you just found me on accident and decided to take advantage of the opportunity.” He caught a glimpse of what looked like one of the trail signs and started heading in that direction. “And now you’ve had your fun, so you can go find Derek and giggle about how you were able to annoy your Pack’s adjacent human.” He stepped on a particularly sharp twig and yelped, glaring at his bare feet. “Fuck me, it is too early for this.”</p><p>At least this time it was light outside. Not quite bright light, but enough to see by, which was a much more comforting change than it being the middle of the night. </p><p>Without warning, Isaac reached out and grabbed Stiles’ arm.</p><p>He flinched away, jerking his arm out of Isaac’s grasp and stumbling a few steps away to be out of immediate arm’s reach. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped. “And seriously, what did you want?”</p><p>“Derek’s been sending me on runs at dawn to help me with my temper. I thought it was bullshit at first, but it seems to help. Especially when me and Boyd meet up,” he said.</p><p>“Boyd’s here?”</p><p>Isaac nodded. “Not too far behind me,” he said. “Are you okay? Like, for real?”</p><p>Stiles eyed him warily before nodding once. “Sure,” he said. "Totally for real." </p><p>Isaac didn’t look convinced. He opened his mouth to say something again, but perked up and looked behind Stiles.</p><p>Boyd walked through the brush, plucking a few stray leaves off of his sweatshirt. He stopped suddenly when he caught sight of Stiles standing there, barefoot and looking vaguely spooked. “Stiles?” he asked.</p><p>“Hey Boyd,” Stiles said, trying and failing at nonchalance. “You wouldn’t happen to have the time, would you?”</p><p>“Six thirty, give or take ten minutes,” Boyd said, slowly approaching Stiles. “You okay?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Isaac, you mind heading out to Mel’s ahead of me? I’ll meet you there in a bit.” When Isaac hesitated, gaze fixated on Stiles, Boyd looked over at him, eyes flashing gold. “I know what’s going on with Stiles, so I’m gonna help out here, and then I’ll meet you all for breakfast.”</p><p>Isaac hesitated for another few seconds before giving Boyd a terse nod. “I’ll order your usual?”</p><p>“Thanks, man,” Boyd said. Projecting every movement, he approached Stiles until he was just within arm’s reach and kept his hands visible. He cocked his head to the side, listening as Isaac left the two of them alone. Once he’d gotten far enough away, Boyd turned his focus fully onto Stiles. “You know where you are, right?”</p><p>“Middle of the woods in the Preserve,” Stiles said, calming down now that there was significant distance between him and Isaac. “Hopefully not too far from one of the trails,” he said. “I guess that means Erica told you about my last walk in the woods?”</p><p>Boyd nodded, looking vaguely apologetic at that. “Want me to walk you back to the path?”</p><p>“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll get fewer stares with company.”</p><p>Boyd snorted. “Dude, you’re barefoot. You’re gonna get stares regardless.” He offered Stiles a hand. “You good on balance?”</p><p>Stiles shrugged. “About normal for me,” he said. “I’m not breaking any weird Pack smell rules by touching you, am I?”</p><p>Boyd rolled his eyes. Still moving slowly enough for Stiles to pull away if he wanted, he took hold of Stiles’ forearm and carefully pulled him forward, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “You’re Pack, Stilinski. Those rules don’t apply to you,” he said. “You want to tell me how you ended up sleeping in the woods?”</p><p>Stiles hesitated for a moment, not wanting to relinquish any information about the fox. “Must have been sleepwalking,” he said, with a lazy attempt at a shrug. “Been having some weird dreams lately.”</p><p>Boyd glanced down at him. “You want to talk about those?”</p><p>He looked up at the taller teenager. “You’re not my therapist.”</p><p>“Could be your friend.”</p><p>And that was offered so casually that Stiles stopped mid-step, not having expected anything of the sort from Boyd.</p><p>“If you wanted,” Boyd added cautiously.</p><p>Stiles pulled in a steadying breath and resumed walking. “Just cause you’re my friend doesn’t mean I’m gonna spill all my secrets out.”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Boyd said, though he seemed almost relieved at Stiles’ lack of objection to the two of them being friends. “But you can, if you want to.”</p><p>He looked over at Boyd. “Still going with don’t want to talk about it.”</p><p>Boyd grinned. “That’s cool. Want something to take your mind off of what you don’t want to talk about?”</p><p>Stiles hesitated for a moment, unable to stem his curiosity.</p><p>And judging by the not-quite-smug glint in Boyd’s eye, he knew it too.</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“Maybe?” Boyd asked, laughing. “Alright, then <em>maybe</em> my Aunt Moira’s having a new exhibit opening up at her gallery tonight, over in Beacon Valley,” he said. “There’s a whole fancy launch thing that involves dressing up like actual grownups, but Moira’s promised me and Erica compensation if we show up and help out.”</p><p>“So you’re recruiting me as waitstaff, is what you’re getting at?”</p><p>“Not a chance, Stilinski,” Boyd said, openly amused. “We’ve been recruited for help, but Moira would be cool with having you show up at opening night. As long as you’re wearing shoes. And once the event’s over, Erica’s picking out dinner and I’ve got dibs on the movie selection. Moira’s probably going to crash early, which means we’re going to have free reign of her setup.” At Stiles’ curious look, he grinned again. “She’s got a <em>sweet </em>home theatre setup in what used to be her garage. There’s plenty of room on the couch for you.”</p><p>Stiles hesitated. It sounded fun, for sure, and it beat being home alone. And he didn’t want to cling too much to Peter – no matter how much Peter insisted he didn’t see it that way. “I’m not gonna be intruding on your Pack night?”</p><p>“You are Pack. It’s going to be just me and Erica,” Boyd said.</p><p>“Not Isaac?” Stiles asked, curious.</p><p>“Nah, that’s new,” Boyd said. “Derek wants to try a whole thing where he checks in with us at breakfast a few times a week. I’d invite you, but he’s still got that problem where he's a dickhead five times out of ten, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that from him. We’ve got the claws and fangs to defend ourselves if he comes after us.”</p><p>Stiles nodded. Part of him wanted to be angry about that – another thing he was being excluded from – but a larger part of him found it oddly comforting, to have Boyd looking out for him like that. “So just you and Erica for movies?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“Do I need a ticket for the opening or anything?”</p><p>“Don’t think so,” Boyd said. “I’ll check with Moira, but it should be cool. If it comes down to it, I’ll just say that you’re my plus one,” he added with a quick grin. “You are going to need a suit, though.”</p><p>Stiles sighed. “I’m gonna bring a change of clothes in my Jeep.”</p><p>“No one’s expecting you to stay in the suit all night, man. Just for the party,” Boyd said, laughing again. “This mean you’re in?”</p><p>He paused, thinking about the offer.  “I think so,” he said. He’d bought a new suit for the funerals he’d had to attend earlier in the summer, and he’d probably call Peter to see if the man had any ideas on making it look less like a funeral suit. “But I’m not wearing a tie.”</p><p>Boyd barked out a loud laugh, startling a bird out of the brush in front of him. “Neither am I.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>deepest apologies for the extreme lateness of this - it's a combination of me sucking at self-imposed deadlines, and getting pulled into several <i>excellent</i> 00Q fics</p><p>current plan is to have the next chapter up by the end of this weekend, to get back to the original schedule for this little story</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Boyd (again) and Erica (again)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Stiles looked at the woman Erica had called, and was only barely able to stop his jaw from dropping. The woman walking over was drop dead gorgeous. She had the darkest skin he’d ever seen and a shaved head, wearing a tight green dress and heels that looked similar to Erica’s. “<i>That’s</i> Moira?” he asked.</p>
<p>Erica snorted. “What were you expecting?”</p>
<p>“Boyd in a dress?” he asked.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>Quick Warning!</b><br/>There is a description of a seizure within this chapter.</p>
<p>I don't think it's too graphic, but just a heads up for y'all in case that's not something you want to read about.<br/>(If you'd like to skip reading that, it's the part that starts with "The sound of breaking glass..." and it's the last part of this chapter - separated by a double "..." breaker as well.)</p>
<p>Again, if you don't want to read a description of a seizure, stop when you see the double section breaker:</p>
<p>
  <strong>...</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>...</strong>
</p>
<p>Other than that, please enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“An art gallery opening?” Peter asked curiously.</p>
<p>Stiles nodded, scowling at the suit jacket he’d hung over his closet door.</p>
<p>Peter hummed, clearly amused but not moving from where he’d dropped into Stiles’ desk chair, sprawling like some sort of lazy royalty. “Somehow that doesn’t strike me as your scene.”</p>
<p>Stiles snorted, flopping down on his bed. “It isn’t. Boyd invited me, and I’m going to hang out with him and Erica afterwards.” He slanted a look over at Peter. “You didn’t want to come, did you?”</p>
<p>He shook his head, smirking slightly. “An evening with three teenagers?” he asked. “I find I rather get my fill with just you,” he said. “But I appreciate the offer.”</p>
<p>“Figured it’d be polite, since you’re helping me figure out what to wear,” he said. “You’re sure I can’t just go with a t-shirt underneath a suit coat?”</p>
<p>Peter laughed quietly. “I doubt the bat and robin shirt would make the positive impression you seem to be trying for,” he said dryly. “If you hadn’t left your Monty Python t-shirt at my place, I might suggest that, but you spilled buffalo sauce on it.”</p>
<p>Stiles huffed out a laugh. “Says the freak who got garlic parmesan,” he said. “I think I’ve narrowed it down to either one of the lightweight hoodies or that white shirt that I wore to the funerals.”</p>
<p>He paused. “Weren’t you wearing a grey button-down the other day?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but that’s denim,” Stiles said, standing up and digging in his closet to pull out the shirt in question. He hung it on the door next to the blazer. “I thought there was some fashion rule that denim didn’t count as formalwear,” he said. “There’s pictures of Britney Spears and what’s-his-face wearing it on a red carpet on the fashion don’t lists.” Without warning, he dropped into Peter’s lap, surprising the man into wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist.</p>
<p>Peter hummed. “Some rules are meant to be broken,” he said. “Are you sure your chair can handle us both?”</p>
<p>Stiles shrugged a bit, nestling further into Peter’s embrace. “If it doesn’t, I expect you to take advantage of your supernatural reflexes to make sure neither of us get hurt.” He cocked his head to the side, looking at the two shirts, smirking slightly when he felt the telltale nudge of Peter’s nose against his throat, absently tracing the line of his carotid. “Are you scenting me or just being creepy?”</p>
<p>The wolf let out a quiet chuckle, close enough to Stiles’ skin that he felt it as well as heard it. “Why not both, pet?”</p>
<p>He laughed quietly, relaxing into the embrace.</p>
<p>A moment passed, the two of them relaxing in each other’s presence, with Peter continuing his unsubtle scenting and Stiles closing his eyes, relishing the embrace.</p>
<p>Stiles found himself almost drifting off before Peter spoke up again.</p>
<p>“You’ve smelled a bit off lately,” he said quietly. “Nothing bad, but there’s been an odd scent to you that isn’t usually there. Are you still having trouble sleeping without interruption?”</p>
<p>Stiles tensed a bit.</p>
<p>Peter hummed. “Is this a side effect of your mono?” he asked.</p>
<p>“<em>My</em> mono?” Stiles asked, smirking a bit.</p>
<p>Without warning, Peter nipped lightly at the back of his neck. “I know little of human disease and did not particularly care to continue research when the top results suggested permanent brain damage. I’ve found myself rather fond of your brain and had no interest in knowing just how severely it could be affected.”</p>
<p>Stiles paused at that, struck by the care in that. Of course, he couldn’t let it last too long without feeling awkward. “For the record, WebMD is not exactly a reliable source of information. Everything on it ends in cancer or pregnancy.”</p>
<p>Peter hummed, nosing at the spot he’d nipped. “Noted,” he said. “But that still doesn’t abate my concern. There’s a scent about you that has me troubled.”</p>
<p>“What kind of scent?” he asked, curious. He thought of the fox – and Erica’s comment when she’d happened upon him in the middle of the woods, that she’d thought she’d smelled a fox.</p>
<p>He hummed again, pulling in another quiet inhale. “Mildew. A little bit of sulfur. And there have been a few spikes of fear that have had me particularly concerned.” He shifted his grip on Stiles’ waist. “I am at your disposal, pet. If you’d like, I’m happy to follow you and ensure you’re kept safe? I have a great deal of experience in dispatching threats to protect my Pack.”</p>
<p>Stiles snorted. “And you’ve decided to just ask me for permission to stalk me?”</p>
<p>“Stiles, you have proven yourself a delightfully vicious creature when you have the interest,” he said, an audible smirk in his voice. “I have no interest in being on the receiving end of that interest, so I thought it better to err on the side of caution,” he said. “Besides, you are a competent young man. I trust you’ll find a way to handle whatever’s going on.”</p>
<p>“And if I can’t handle it on my own?”</p>
<p>Peter hummed. “Well, then you’ve got the full force of my talent and experience at your disposal,” he said. “All you need do is ask, pet, and I would be happy to utilize my entire repertoire on your behalf.”</p>
<p>Stiles sighed, dropping his head back onto Peter’s shoulder and closing his eyes. “And since I’m pretty sure that includes murder, that probably shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is,” he said. “I think I’ve got a handle on things for now, but thanks.”</p>
<p>“Of course, sweet,” Peter said. “It has always been a point of pride that I am able to use my skills for the benefit of my Pack.” He paused for a moment before tightening his hold on Stiles and standing up abruptly. “Now, let’s take a look to see what shoes you intend to wear this evening.”</p>
<p>Stiles snorted, amused, and let Peter manhandle him back over toward his closet.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Moira’s gallery, Atizay, was smaller than Stiles had expected. He parked in the lot across the street, taking a quick survey. He didn’t often come out to Beacon Valley, their historic district even less. The last time he could remember being out there was before his mom had been hospitalized. When the Sheriff had been pulled away for more complicated cases, she would take him out to the movie theatre on the edge of the historic district to watch old black and white movies.</p>
<p>There was a large glass front, the left side displaying an abstract sculpture that took up almost the entire window. As he got out of the Jeep and headed toward the shop, he realized it was made of wood and some kind of melted silver metal. The right side of the window appeared, at first, to be empty, but he noticed a small gold coin on the floor of the display.</p>
<p>“That’s Moira’s favorite,” Boyd said from behind him, his sudden appearance startling Stiles almost violently into the window. He grinned at the dirty look Stiles shot him. “It’s official name is ‘The Last of Nine Lives’, but Moira likes to call it the Cat-Killer.”</p>
<p>“I thought you were going to be in there,” Stiles said, gesturing loosely toward the open door.</p>
<p>Boyd nodded to the four coffees he had on a disposable tray. “Sent out for reinforcements,” he said. “Moira likes to go for tea during the openings, and the open bar here doesn’t have coffee, so Dave asked for a cup.”</p>
<p>“There’s an open bar?” Stiles asked. “I didn’t realize that was a thing for art galleries?”</p>
<p>“It is when there’s an established artist here, and when his stuff starts at five figures,” he said. “He’s surprisingly chill, though, for a dude who makes a living with abstract art.”</p>
<p>Stiles opened his mouth, response ready, when a wolf whistle from behind him interrupted.</p>
<p>“Damn, Stilinski,” Erica drawled, walking out to circle Stiles, an almost comical leer on her face. “You clean up <em>nice</em>. If I didn’t think my boyfriend would object, I might try and hit that.”</p>
<p>Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow at her. </p>
<p>She grinned, expression morphing into something more friendly. “Of course, I’d have to keep in mind that <em>your</em> boyfriend would hit back,” she said. At Stiles’ snort, Erica turned her attention to Boyd. “You look good too, but I’ve already complimented your ass in your suit,” she added, plucking one of the coffees from Boyd’s tray. “Moira’s looking antsy.”</p>
<p>“Uh huh,” Boyd said. He looked over at Stiles. “Glad you came, Stiles.”</p>
<p>He offered the taller teenager a small smile. “Thanks, man,” he said, watching as Boyd headed inside, navigating through the handful of people without difficulty. Once he saw Boyd head around a corner, he turned his focus back to Erica. She was wearing a black bodycon dress that had some lace detailing on the shoulders and a pair of shoes that had lethal-looking stiletto heels. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he said. “How tall are those shoes?”</p>
<p>“Almost five inches,” she said, smirking at the compliment. “Designer and everything. Peter’s the one who actually helped me pick them out, sort of. Said something about Derek being able to afford the nicer things in life, and then gave me Derek’s credit card.” She headed inside, Stiles at her side. “I was going to get something reasonable, but the Louboutins spoke to me.”</p>
<p>Stiles whistled lowly, eyes on the heels for a minute before he looked back up and around the room.</p>
<p>“Any preference on dinner?” she asked.</p>
<p>“I thought it was your choice?”</p>
<p>Erica nodded. “Sure, but I’m a benevolent dictator.” She looked for a moment like she was going to continue speaking, but she looked up suddenly, giving Stiles the clear impression of a puppy perking her ears up. “Moira! This is Stiles!”</p>
<p>Stiles looked at the woman Erica had called, and was only barely able to stop his jaw from dropping. The woman walking over was drop dead gorgeous. She had the darkest skin he’d ever seen and a shaved head, wearing a tight green dress and heels that looked similar to Erica’s. “<em>That’s</em> Moira?” he asked.</p>
<p>Erica snorted. “What were you expecting?”</p>
<p>“Boyd in a dress?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Flattering,” was the amused reply from Moira. With a lilting, almost lyrical French accent. “As much as I love my nephew, I am his aunt by marriage. Stiles, is it?”</p>
<p>He nodded. “Yeah.” A second later, with the ghost of his father’s voice in his head, back when he’d first campaigned for Sheriff and Stiles had been young enough to pull off the adorable look. He offered Moira his hand. “Yeah, hi, sorry, I’m Stiles.”</p>
<p>Moira laughed, taking the hand and leaning over to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Moira. Vernon and Erica speak very highly of you, when they mention you,” she said.</p>
<p>Stiles felt his ears go hot. “Thanks,” he said. “Nice place you’ve got here.”</p>
<p>She smiled at him, releasing his hand. “It has been a labor of love for many years. Make yourself at home,” she said. “Except for the bar. Vernon tells me that you’re underage?”</p>
<p>“Eighteen.”</p>
<p>“Then you are welcome to enjoy anything nonalcoholic at the bar,” she said. “Or, if you’d like, I’ve got a mini-fridge in the back. Vernon can show you where it is and what I’ve got there.”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded. “Thanks,” he said.</p>
<p>Moira just smiled again.</p>
<p>Someone further back in the gallery called Moira’s name, and she turned to look at them, nodding once. She looked back at Erica and Stiles. “That would be David. Make yourselves comfortable, and if you run into David, I would advise avoiding the topic of graffiti as art. He has some very strong opinions.”</p>
<p>Erica grinned. “I heard part of his tirade earlier,” she said.</p>
<p>Moira rolled her eyes, though still looked amused, as she headed back to David.</p>
<p>Erica looped an arm around Stiles’ elbow and pulled him into the gallery. “She calls him Vernon and he’s too intimidated by her to correct him,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I’m pretty sure she knows it annoys him, but he hasn’t said anything to her about it yet. It’s fantastic.”</p>
<p>“Seriously?” Stiles asked, unable to hold back his amusement. “He’s intimidated that much by his aunt?”</p>
<p>Erica nodded. “She’s six feet of French confidence, good fashion, and surprisingly sharp edges.” She sighed, resting her head on Stiles’ shoulder. “I want to be her when I grow up. She knows how to <em>run </em>in her heels.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you have kind of your own kind of edge to help you with that?”</p>
<p>She nodded, straightening up. “Speaking of that edge of mine,” she said quietly, steering Stiles toward the wall, next to a large statue of an elk. “A certain red-eyed acquaintance of ours has been acting weirder than usual.”</p>
<p>Stiles stiffened, immediately on edge. “Weird how?”</p>
<p><em>Fear not, spark</em>, came a quiet response in the back of his mind. <em>I will do all that I can to protect you</em>.</p>
<p>A quick glance out of the window showed that the sun was well on its way to set. Which seemed to make sense, somehow. The fox hadn’t spoken much throughout the day, and it had sounded almost tired when it had.</p>
<p>“Weird like the new moon is having some sort of effect on him. He’s been cagier than normal,” Erica said. “Not meaner, which is nice, but he’s been avoiding us outside of scheduled meetings. Like, Boyd and I were on a run in the Preserve. Completely mundane, running shoes and all, and as far as I can tell, he was doing the same thing, but when he saw us, he growled at us, told us to stay out of the woods for the new moon, and then literally turned around and ran the other way.”</p>
<p>“Seriously?”</p>
<p>She nodded. “It was freaky. Boyd tried to chase him down and figure out what was going on, but Derek gave him the slip,” she said. “He did the same thing with Isaac, too, apparently.”</p>
<p>Stiles frowned. “Is there something you’re expecting me to do about it?”</p>
<p>Erica shook her head. “No,” she said. “Just letting you know. It’s not how he’s acted before, when there’s been some serious player around like when Deucalion was in town, but I figured you ought to know when our alpha male counterpart starts acting more squirrelly than usual.”</p>
<p>“Thanks,” Stiles said.</p>
<p>Erica opened her mouth to respond when something caught her attention. She cocked her head to the side, smirking slightly as she heard something out of Stiles' hearing range. “That would be Boyd. Duty calls,” she said. “Shout if you need me.”</p>
<p>He nodded, watching her go.</p>
<p>His attention was immediately captured by a set of mixed-media sculptures mounted on the wall. He cocked his head to the side, inspecting the sculptures. As he tried to decipher the sculpture, he found himself wondering what had Derek so antsy about the new moon.</p>
<p>
  <em>Your wolves may be bound by the power of the full moon, but the new moon too holds great power. In my youth, humans sought its power as a source of rejuvenation. Generations have found that it holds a great power in renewal and starting something new. </em>
</p>
<p>Stiles hummed quietly, shifting his attention from the sculpture to the crowd. He didn’t see anyone he recognized – entirely unsurprising, but still rather reassuring. Erica had joined Moira, talking to who he assumed was David, and he caught a glimpse of Boyd ducking into a back room.</p>
<p>Curious, he headed in that same direction.</p>
<p>Before he could make it into the back room, he found himself intercepted by Moira, who handed him a champagne flute, filled almost to the brim with some kind of bubbling drink in it. “Champagne?” he asked, smiling slightly. </p>
<p>She laughed. “Not a chance, you’re still underage for that. Black cherry sparkling water,” she said. “I have no interest in being cited by the Sheriff for serving his kid alcohol.”</p>
<p>He was unable to hold back the slight flinch at that, amusement dissipating. </p>
<p>Moira’s eyes narrowed at that reaction, all humor falling from her face. “One of the attendees this evening works in the mayor’s office recognized you and mentioned who your father is. Rather short, in the untailored pink pantsuit. At about your three o’clock, if I’ve got my positioning right. She also made a mention that she was planning to ask you about some county elections.”</p>
<p>Stiles scowled, immediately recognizing the woman Moira was talking about. “Eileen Thomas, yeah. Did you want me to go talk to her?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Oh fuck no,” Moira said. She paused. “Unless you’re particularly interested in talking politics with her and her husband?”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “She’s relentless.”</p>
<p>Moira laughed quietly. “I’ve learned that rather quickly this evening,” she said. “Vernon’s already called in the towel with her.” She smirked. “Though it doesn’t help that David seems rather taken with Erica, and she’s having a great deal of fun flirting with him and annoying Vernon. I thought I would head her off and come to you first to give you a warning.”</p>
<p><em>Rather considerate, for a human</em>.</p>
<p>“Thanks,” he said, taking a hesitant sip of the sparkling water and finding himself pleasantly surprised at the taste of it. “This is good.”</p>
<p>She nodded. “There’s more of it in the back office if you want. It’s staff only, but Vernon will let you in.”</p>
<p>Stiles took another sip of his drink. “And you really don’t mind?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. As long as you don’t rifle through my desk. Curious minds are only so endearing until proprietary information is put at risk,” she said.</p>
<p>He nodded. “Yeah. I mean, no. I’m not going to look through your shit. Stuff.” He felt his ears grow hot and he ducked his head a bit, scrubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>For her part, Moira just looked completely amused. “Erica did mention that she found you particularly adorable,” she said. “I’ll do my best to ward Eileen off, but she’s been taking aggressive advantage of my open bar since she arrived, so I don’t know how much trouble she’s going to be. So far the cocktails have only seemed to fuel her tenacity.”</p>
<p>“I appreciate the effort either way,” he said. “Office is this way, right?” he asked, pointing in the same direction that Boyd had gone.</p>
<p>Moira nodded. “The door locks, if she turns out to be especially tenacious.”</p>
<p>He grinned at her before heading back toward the room in question, glass still in hand.</p>
<p>Just before he reached the office, he found himself stopping, distracted by a trio of square prints hanging on the wall opposite the office door. They weren’t particularly large – nothing like the abstract prints that were being premiered. The prints looked almost like fabric, and the paintings were done in a coffee-brown color, with what looked like gold flakes accenting the main pictures. Each of the prints featured a fox, in three different poses. The first, a fox curled up, asleep under a bush of gold flakes. The second, a fox wading into a pool of water. The third, though, was the one that caught his attention the most – a fox walking out of a wall of fire. It too had the gold flakes found in the first print, though instead of a bush, it highlighted the fox’s nine tails.</p>
<p>“Pretty,” Stiles said quietly, cocking his head to the side a bit as he continued to inspect the print.</p>
<p>
  <em>A fair enough likeness, particularly when depicted by a human. </em>
</p>
<p>“Even the gold?”</p>
<p> <em>Perhaps a bit ostentatious. I am strongest at night, and metal adornments on my tails would risk my camouflage. It may impact some of my more complex magicks. </em>It paused. <em>Gold does hold power, though. It is an interesting tribute. </em></p>
<p>Stiles hummed. “You’re a prisoner.”</p>
<p><em>Temporarily. I have sought you out with the hope that you will aid me in regaining my freedom</em>.</p>
<p>He hesitated, acknowledging that fact. The longer he spoke with the fox, the more inclined he was to help it. He might only be human, but there were times when he was barely able to handle being forced to stay in a single room for an hour. “How’d you get trapped to begin with?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Betrayal.</em>
</p>
<p>Stiles took another sip of his drink, keeping his eyes on the print. Hopefully the fox would elaborate without prompting. There was only so much he could mutter under his breath before he started attracting attention, even hidden as he was, standing in the back corner of Moira’s studio, near the office door.</p>
<p>
  <em>I was summoned by one of my own kind in an hour of her great need, during one of humanity’s so-called great wars. Humans were rounding up and caging their own kind. She was caught among them and summoned me. She was younger than me, and my skills were far superior to hers in disrupting mortal nonsense and freeing her from her cage. Chaos comes quite naturally to me. As it does to you, spark. </em>
</p>
<p>Stiles made a quiet noise in the back of his throat, acknowledging without speaking out loud.</p>
<p>
  <em>This young fox pledged me her loyalty, even going so far as to offer me one of her tails in exchange for her freedom. Once she tasted her first breaths of freedom, she betrayed me to a druid who claimed me too powerful to be allowed to roam free. My form was bound, and the traitor attempted to steal my tails. The druid trapped me beneath the roots of a sacred tree, and I was left alone, in the dark, powers severely constrained. I attempted to gain my freedom several times, only to be thwarted by wards that had been carved into the tree. I yearned to taste their blood on my tongue. They more than any others I have encountered in my millennia alive deserve my wrath, but they have escaped me thus far. </em>
</p>
<p>Stiles frowned. When Jennifer had come through town, she’d called Deaton a druid. But there hadn’t been anything close to a ‘great war’ since the early 20th century, and there was no way that Deaton was anywhere near one hundred years old.</p>
<p>
  <em>I eventually settled into a hibernation. It was unnatural and against my nature, but I endured it for over half a century. </em>
</p>
<p>He leaned back, propping himself against the wall opposite the fox prints. “Then what?”</p>
<p><em>A tentative peace compact, stymied by the betrayal of one human hunter. His destruction of this agreement ensured the continuation of blood between wolves and their would-be eradicators and robbed a wolf of his eyes</em>.</p>
<p>Immediately, Stiles’ mind went to Deucalion. He felt a spark of interest from the fox, but apparently sharing its story was overpowering its curiosity, though Stiles was willing to bet that was only temporary.</p>
<p>
  <em>That sparked a simmer of discontent that woke me from my restless slumber. I listened. I watched. The sacred tree that served as my prison was desecrated, torn down to little more than a stump. Then, a betrayal amongst wolves, and the reemergence of a druid. Not the same that trapped me, but carrying a similar scent. A fire, another betrayal, and the escape of a mad wolf. The return of the hunter who sabotaged an attempt at peace, the creation of an abomination and the massacre of humans. Such delightful chaos pulled me from my hibernation, but still, I waited. </em>
</p>
<p>“For what?”</p>
<p><em>An emissary. A kindred spirit. </em>It paused, and Stiles had the distinct impression that if he could see the fox, it would be smirking at him. <em>A spark. </em></p>
<p>He snorted.</p>
<p>
  <em>As I roused myself, searching for a receptive ear, I became more aware of the druid. He did not seek to free me, though he was well aware of my presence. He came to the tree on every new moon, bleeding it of its power and attempting to siphon some of mine. Even before he found true favor amongst the wolves, he used the tree and the positioning of the moon to imbue power into his rites, and to knowingly strengthen the walls of my prison.</em>
</p>
<p>Stiles frowned to himself. He would have to revisit the whole druid element later – he <em>knew</em> Deaton wasn’t as trustworthy as either Scott or Derek seemed to think, though he’d never been quite able to say why, exactly. Somehow it was reassuring to have that confirmed, even if by an imprisoned fox deity. “And you say chaos becomes you?”</p>
<p>
  <em>It is part of my very nature, spark. The more I wake and the longer I am kept in my cage, the more of it will pull toward me. The druid has tried to take advantage of that. My strength is replenishing much more quickly as I wake from my internment, and he will attempt to drain it from me when he returns for his rites on the new moon.</em>
</p>
<p>“Which peaks tomorrow night.”</p>
<p>The fox purred. <em>I have been caged for far too long, spark. Aid me in my freedom and I will grant you and yours a measure of peace</em>.</p>
<p>“You can’t,” Stiles said, taking another sip of the water. “If chaos is your nature, it’s impossible for you to grant peace.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Chaos is my nature, and my nature cannot be separated from me. Open my cage, set me free, and I will take it with me when I leave. With my departure, the chaos will abate.</em>
</p>
<p>“All of it?”</p>
<p><em>I cannot take all of it, spark, but I will take as much as I am able. I will need much of it to track down the fox who first betrayed me and aided in my capture. She is the one who deserves the true brunt of my ire. Your territory will stabilize, inasmuch as a territory brimming with werewolves and home to a young spark can. I will provide as much of a respite as I am able. </em>A pause, and then: <em>Will you help me?</em></p>
<p>Stiles thought about it for a moment. His mind immediately went to his father – still working something close to double or triple overtime to make up for the staff shortages since the Kanima incident. Removing chaos could only make things a little bit safer when he went on duty, and even if his father still wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with him, Stiles wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to keep him safe. And he found himself curious about how a decrease in chaos might affect Derek’s … issues.  </p>
<p>He narrowed his eyes at the print of the nine-tailed fox. “What do you need?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Your body. Confined as I am, trapped in a lesser form, I cannot perform the necessary tasks to free myself. Share your form with me.</em>
</p>
<p>“And you’ll give it back, as it was?”</p>
<p>
  <em>As much as I am capable of. You will retain your humanity, and I will use my considerable power to ensure you come to as little harm as possible. If we succeed, I will be freed, and I will relinquish your body and mind fully back to you. If I remain imprisoned, I will relinquish your body and mind fully back to you. Either way, though, spark, I will claim you as my disciple. There is such prosperity in being claimed as such by an old god such as myself. </em>
</p>
<p>“I’ve got your word you’ll give me back?”</p>
<p>
  <em>On the unceasing strength and resilience of my tails. </em>
</p>
<p>“How long?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Three days. No longer. </em>
</p>
<p>Stiles hummed quietly, thinking about it. It was a risk. He knew that. Hearing the disembodied voice of a self-proclaimed deity, losing time, and having a very tactile hallucination of a very large fox all pointed more toward mental illness than a legitimate god requesting Stiles’ help. He knew that. But still, the temptation of peace was almost irresistible. Even if only for the sake of his father.</p>
<p>
  <em>Do I have your agreement, spark?</em>
</p>
<p>“Three days,” he murmured.</p>
<p>
  <em>At most. If fortune is on our side, it will not take nearly as long, but I will not jeopardize your humanity in this, as you have not wished it. Three days and not a minute more. </em>
</p>
<p>He pulled in a deep breath, not entirely sure he believed what he was about to do. “Yes. I agree.”</p>
<p>Almost immediately, he was enveloped in complete darkness. The fox purred, and Stiles felt a sensation not unlike a set of claws digging into the back of his neck. He tensed, attempting to pull in a steady breath, but ended up choking on that breath.</p>
<p>“Steady, spark,” came the oddly reassuring voice of the fox. Out loud. The press of a cool, damp nose against his Adam’s apple accompanied the assurance. “It is uncomfortable, but this will not take long. Close your eyes and let me in.”</p>
<p>Stiles let out a quiet whimper, the sudden sensations unnerving him.</p>
<p>Still, he leaned his head back, baring his throat to the creature, and surrendered.</p>
<p>
  <strong>...</strong>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>...</strong>
</p>
<p>The sound of breaking glass and a heavy ‘thud’ from the hallway just outside Moira’s office door startled Boyd. He jumped at the noise, dropping his phone onto the floor, Candy Crush game abandoned without thought. He thought back to the techniques his therapist had taught him to stay calm.</p>
<p>He closed his eyes, twitching a bit at that. He’d only recently been able to ease up on the hypervigilance, but the sudden noise had his senses running in overdrive.</p>
<p>Make a fist, Dr. Ford had said.</p>
<p>Boyd did so, wincing as his claws pierced his skin. He’d have to come back to make sure he didn’t bleed onto Moira’s office rug.</p>
<p>Hold the fist for a few seconds. Count to five; inventory the tension in the grip.</p>
<p>He forced himself to take in a steadying breath, and then, as he reached five, he opened his fingers and flexed his hand. His claws were still out – and Boyd was willing to bet that his eyes were glowing gold. Not exactly ideal, given that he was one door away from a room full of humans.</p>
<p>A quiet, pained groan pulled him out of his head, forcing himself to focus on the situation at hand.</p>
<p>He repeated Dr. Ford’s exercise twice more, doing his best to coax his wolf back under the surface.</p>
<p>As soon as his claws retracted and he felt a little bit calmer, he opened the door.</p>
<p>To see Stiles standing against the wall, staring blankly at the fox prints opposite Moira’s office door. His head was tossed back, pressed heavily against the brick wall. His hands were jerking slightly, and he kept making quiet noises that sounded far too close to choking for Boyd’s comfort.  </p>
<p>“Stiles?” Boyd asked quietly, hoping for a response.</p>
<p>Nothing.</p>
<p>Stiles continued to jerk stiffly, breaking out in a sheen of sweat. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the choking noises got a bit louder.</p>
<p>“Stiles?” he tried again.</p>
<p>Still nothing.</p>
<p>Boyd heard something terrifying and took a step closer to Stiles, hoping he’d heard wrong. Without thinking, he pressed his hand to Stiles’ chest, both hearing and feeling the other teenager’s heartbeat racing faster than could possibly be healthy.</p>
<p>“<em>Fuck</em>,” he muttered. “Erica, SOS,” he said quietly, hoping she wasn’t too engaged elsewhere to not hear him. Keeping his hand on Stiles’ chest, Boyd took a quick glance at the mirrored window, making sure his eyes weren’t glowing. Mollified that he didn’t look blatantly out of control, he spoke again, this time much louder. “<em>Moira</em>!” He winced at the sheer terror in his voice – hopefully he came across slightly less hysteric.</p>
<p>No such luck.</p>
<p>Moira ran around the corner, coming to an abrupt stop when she saw the situation.</p>
<p>Erica appeared behind her just a second later. The second she laid eyes on Stiles, she let out a string of curses and pushed past Moira. “He’s having a seizure,” she said. “Call an ambulance,” she snapped.</p>
<p>Boyd hesitated, his focus solely fixated on Stiles.</p>
<p>Erica growled lowly, flashing her eyes at him. “<em>Now</em>, Boyd.”</p>
<p>He nodded sharply and ducked into Moira’s office for his phone. As he dialed 911, he heard Moira and Erica talking in hushed tones. Nothing the human guests would be able to hear, but not an issue for Boyd. He listened to the quick exchange, Erica’s panic becoming almost tangible when she told Moira that Stiles wasn’t epileptic, as she’d been.</p>
<p>“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”</p>
<p>“Medical emergency. My friend’s having a seizure.”</p>
<p>“What is the address of the emergency?”</p>
<p>Boyd rattled off the address for Atizay, most of his focus on Stiles’ heartbeat and Erica’s conversation. He followed that up with his phone number, heading over toward Erica and Stiles when the operator asked for specific symptoms. “He’s twitching, his heart rate’s way high –”</p>
<p>Erica snatched the phone from him, and after introducing herself to the operator, gave the woman a rundown. “He’s having a tonic seizure, it’s been maybe a minute or two, but less than five. Not responsive, with an elevated heart rate, and he’s having trouble breathing,” she said. A brief pause. “He had mono a few weeks ago,” she said, eyes widening as she was struck by a realization. “We’re not going move him, but we’re in the back of the gallery.”</p>
<p>“I’ll clear folks out,” Moira said quietly, eyes locked onto Stiles’ still-stricken form.</p>
<p>Erica nodded her thanks, but kept her focus on the conversation on Boyd’s cellphone. She contributed a few more things to the call, and then handed the phone back to Boyd. “Operator’s staying on the line in case there’s a complication. Ambulance is four minutes away, coming in hot.”</p>
<p>“Cool.” He kept a grip on the phone, turning his gaze back to Stiles.</p>
<p>His jerking had slowed a bit, and the choking noises subsided, but he was still unresponsive with his eyes rolled into the back of his head.</p>
<p>“You had a panic thought,” he said quietly.</p>
<p>She nodded, her focus also dedicated to Stiles. “He had mono. Encephalitis is a possible complication of mono. Doctors tested me for it when I first started having seizures, just to rule it out,” she said, her voice trembling as she spoke. “I was clear. But Stiles was losing time. That’s another symptom. If it’s set in too long, he could die. There’s like a ten percent mortality rate with encephalitis.”</p>
<p>“Erica,” Boyd said, not sure what to say to reassure her.</p>
<p>She looked over at him, eyes watering with unshed tears. “I found him in the woods in the middle of the night weeks ago and he didn’t want to push it, so I let it go. Boyd, if he dies because of this, I could have stopped it. It'll be my fault.”</p>
<p>He pulled her into a tight hug, both of them contorting to keep an eye on Stiles.</p>
<p>There was little comfort in the 911 operator’s reassurances that the ambulance was on its way.</p>
<p>They only calmed slightly when they heard the high-pitched sirens of the ambulance coming into earshot.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all for being patient!</p>
<p>This chapter is insanely later than I wanted it to be - offline life got stupidly complicated over the holidays//end of the year (just unnecessarily so, really). Things have started to settle, though, so if all works out as intended, the next chapter for this should be up in about a week. </p>
<p>Again, I can't thank y'all enough for hanging with me and reading this - your comments have been one of the few things that helped me through the past handful of weeks. I truly, truly appreciate all of you. </p>
<p>(unrelated, the t-shirt mentioned early on in this chapter can be found here: https://www.snorgtees.com/t-shirts/pop-culture/bat-and-robin. it's absolutely fantastic and I love it)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Melissa and Scott</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>real quick, before you get started - a couple tags got added, so you might want to take a gander at those (nothing too serious, as far as content warning, has been added, but just wanted to let y'all know!)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles came to with a pained groan. He opened his eyes, immediately regretting it and clenching them shut against the harsh bright light of his room. A quiet noise beside him had him curious, but rather than open his eyes again, he just grunted.</p><p>“You gave us quite a scare this evening.” Moira’s voice was calm, the French accent almost soothing.</p><p>“Sorry I fucked up your opening,” he croaked, wincing through the apology. His throat felt like he’d swallowed sandpaper. Or a chainsaw. While it was still running.  </p><p>“Don’t even think like that,” she said. “I’m going to lower the lights and get the nurse in here. Will you be alright by yourself for a few minutes?”</p><p>Stiles hesitated briefly before nodding, though he wasn’t able to hold back the frown.</p><p>“Vernon and Erica had to step out. They were getting a little bit too stressed to be conducive to your recovery, and they promised to leave as long as I let them know as soon as you woke up,” she said. “After I get the doctor and make sure you’re properly situated, I’ll call Vernon.”</p><p>He heard the quiet click of high heels as Moira crossed the room.</p><p>“Open your eyes slowly. I’ve dimmed the lights,” she said.</p><p>Stiles did as told, relaxing a bit when it didn’t hurt to open his eyes this time. “Thanks,” he all but whispered, more mouthing the word than speaking it out loud.</p><p>She smiled at him. “Wait here.”  </p><p>He nodded, his eyes drifting shut again.</p><p>It didn’t take long before he heard the clicking of her heels again, accompanied by a hushed conversation that abruptly stopped when Stiles peeled his eyes open again. He recognized Moira, and the woman standing next to her looked relatively familiar, but he couldn’t exactly place her. She was shorter than Moira - though that wasn't entirely difficult, given not only Moira's height, but the heels she was still wearing - and had her hair pulled up into two buns in a look not dissimilar from Princess Leia. That, and her vague familiarity, was slightly calming. </p><p>“Young Mister Stilinski,” she said. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Not great,” he said, doing his best not to flinch this time. Judging by the concerned furrow of Moira’s brow, he hadn’t been as successful as he’d hoped.</p><p>“That’s to be expected. I’m Lucia, I’ll be your nurse for the night.” She lifted up a small plastic cup. “I’ve got some ice chips here, if you’re feeling up for it.”</p><p>He nodded, lifting up a hand to reach for the glass.</p><p>Lucia handed the cup to him. “Eat them one at a time. Do you know where you are?”</p><p>“Hospital,” he said, plucking out an ice chip and slipping it into his mouth. “Smells bad.”</p><p>She smiled slightly. “I suppose it does. Now, do you have any relation to Ms. Boyd here?”</p><p>“My friend’s aunt.”</p><p>“So no direct relation?”</p><p>“We share no blood," Moira said, answering for Stiles. “I merely drove his friends to the hospital after the ambulance.”</p><p>Lucia nodded. “In that case, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”</p><p>“Of course.” Moira looked over at Stiles, offering him a small, genuine smile. “It was good to meet you, though I do hope our next meeting will be a bit less eventful.”</p><p>Stiles nodded. “Same.”</p><p>Lucia laughed quietly as Moira left the room. “How much do you remember?”</p><p>His brows furrowed. “There was an ambulance?” he asked. “Then I got scared, then nothing.”</p><p>“Those are the basics, yes. Your friends called 911 when you were having a severe seizure.” She picked up the clipboard hooked at the foot of the hospital bed, flipping through the first few pages. “The paramedics noted that it was a prolonged grand mal seizure that was followed by what seems to have been a panic attack,” she said. “You were unconscious when you were brought into the hospital. You had a CT scan almost immediately upon arrival, and it looks like you may have lucked out. No signs of anything concerning in the noggin.”</p><p>Stiles perked up at that. “Really?”</p><p>She nodded. “I can talk to the technician for details if you’re interested, but based on the notes in your file here, your test was clear,” she said. “Which is good, but nothing in your file is showing any indication of a previous seizure?”</p><p>He shrugged. “I’ve had panic attacks before, but not seizures.”</p><p>Lucia frowned slightly. “That’s what has us worried. It <em>is</em> possible for someone to have one seizure in their life, and never again have another one, but yours was a prolonged grand mal seizure, which poses more of a risk for brain damage,” she said. “Your friend mentioned that you’re getting over mono, so that had us particularly worried. Fortunately, the CT scan ruled out encephalitis and we saw no signs of inflammation or atrophy, so that’s good news.”</p><p>Stiles relaxed. He was well aware that that wasn’t the issue, but having a clear CT scan was a reassurance in and of itself. No signs of brain atrophy meant that early onset frontotemporal dementia was much less likely.</p><p>
  <em>That is one thing I can guarantee, spark, should you allow it. I am perfectly capable of protecting my disciples from the wasting diseases that affect so many humans, and I would be honored to bestow that upon you. </em>
</p><p>“Thanks,” Stiles said.</p><p>“That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re out of the woods,” Lucia said, fortunately thinking that Stiles was thanking her, and not the fox deity he was currently sharing a body with. “We’re going to keep you here overnight at least for observation. Any objections to offering up a blood sample so we can run a few tests?”</p><p>He frowned. “You didn’t just take it while I was out?” he asked, popping another ice chip into his mouth.</p><p>Lucia shook her head. “First off, it’s against the law,” she said. “Second off, we didn’t know if you were going to have another seizure,” She paused, cocking her head to the side and frowning a bit. “I mean, I have no way of knowing whether you’re going to have another seizure or not even right now, but it’s at least reassuring that you’re awake and as coherent as you are. Grand mals aren’t minor incidents.”</p><p>“I’m still really tired.”</p><p>She laughed quietly, heading toward a large cabinet built into the wall opposite the door. “That’s entirely expected. You’re probably sore, too, or you will be when you stand up again,” she said. “What you experienced is very taxing on the body, and it’s going to take some time to bounce all the way back.” She put her hand on the handle of the cabinet. “What’s the verdict on your blood sample?”</p><p>His frown darkened, confusion setting in. “Why are you being so specific about this?”</p><p>Lucia turned to face him fully, crossing her arms over her chest. “Because if we take a blood sample, any drugs you’ve taken will show up in the results, and while we will provide you all necessary medical care, ingesting illegal substances come with legal consequences,” she said.  </p><p>“Oh.” He crunched down on the ice chip, relishing at the sound. “Only drug I’ve taken today is Adderall. Prescribed. I’ve had it for years; it should be in my file.”</p><p>That had her relaxing noticeably. “Good,” she said, turning back to the cabinet and swiping her ID card into the electronic lock. “It was concerning enough when we were unable to reach either of your emergency contacts. Complications from drug use only compounded that concern.”</p><p>Stiles scowled, unable to hold back the pang of hurt at that. “No drugs other than prescribed. And Dad’s been busy lately.”</p><p>“And Melissa McCall is on leave for another day or two,” Lucia said. She pulled on a set of latex gloves and started collecting the necessary supplies for a blood draw. “We tend to have similar schedules, she and I.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>Lucia nodded. “I won’t be able to call anyone else for you. Protocol says documented emergency contacts only.”</p><p>“Can I call someone? My phone’s here, right?”</p><p>She nodded again. “We had to take off your suit coat and belt off for the CT, and we’ve got your wallet, keys, and phone in a bag in the cabinet here.” As she started walking over to the hospital bed, she gave him an odd look. “Let me take the blood without issue, and we can talk about it.”</p><p>Stiles smirked. He shifted a bit, doing his best to sit up without jostling himself too much, and laid his arm out along the bed frame, palm up. “I’m easy.”</p><p>Lucia rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you are,” she said, even as she prepped the needle. “Why, pray tell, do you think you need your phone at almost midnight when your priority ought to be doing your best to recover from a serious medical incident?”</p><p>“Friends aren’t emergency contacts,” he said. “Need to let them know I’m okay.”</p><p>Lucia was silent for a few minutes, focusing on getting the blood sample. Once she was done and had finished sealing the vials, she looked back up at him. “Visiting hours are long over. I won’t have you bringing your friends in and disturbing the other patients.”</p><p>Stiles shook his head. “Not going to invite them. Just talk to them.”</p><p>She hummed, packing the samples. “I’ll give you one strike with it. Anyone complains, or if I think you’re getting too rowdy, then I take your phone until the end of my shift,” Lucia said. “And I’m on the overnight shift.”</p><p>He grinned, flexing his wrist absently. “What if I get no strike?”</p><p>“Then you’ll get to keep your phone, and I’ll make sure you don’t get the orange jello for breakfast. Cooperative patients make my nights much better.”</p><p>“If I’m a cooperative patient, does that mean I can get pudding?”</p><p>That startled a quiet laugh out of Lucia. “If you promise to stay in bed unless you’ve called for assistance, then I might be inclined to upgrade you to pudding.”</p><p>“But I’m not hooked up to anything?”</p><p>She pointed to his right middle finger, which had a plastic clip encasing it up to the first knuckle. “You’re hooked up to a pulse oximeter, just like everyone else here. If you take it off, I’ll get alerted that your blood oxygen level and your pulse rate have both dropped to zero, at which point I will have to figure out if you’re being difficult or if you’ve decided to spontaneously drop dead on me.” At Stiles’ silence, Lucia just gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m not going to tie you down to the bed, but you’ve just had a significant seizure, and we’re not sure if there’s going to be a repeat occurrence. If something goes wrong, I would much rather it happen while you’re still in bed, rather than at risk of collapsing and cracking your head open on our exquisite hospital tile.”</p><p>“Oh,” Stiles said quietly. He looked closer at the device on his finger, wondering how sensitive it was – and if it could pick up the fact that he wasn’t alone. “Is there a serious risk of that happening?”</p><p>
  <em>Your body has already accepted me, spark. You will experience no more mortal irregularities on my account.</em>
</p><p>“We have no way of knowing for sure. Seizures can be tricky things,” Lucia said. “We are keeping you in observation for a reason. It’s not something we exactly do for fun.”</p><p>Stiles relaxed, sinking back into the bed. “That makes sense.”</p><p>She nodded, packing the vials into a small medical bag. “So, and this is entirely dependent on whether you behave and not a guarantee that you'll get it, what flavor pudding would be the best reward for your cooperation?”</p><p>“Peanut butter. Or banana. Or both, if you think I’ve been <em>extra</em> cooperative.”</p><p>Lucia made an amused noise in the back of her throat. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she said, heading back over to the cabinet. “I make my rounds about every hour, unless you need me before then. Do you feel the cord attached to the outside of your bed frame on the left side?”</p><p>Stiles felt around, shifting a bit until he saw the cord Lucia was talking about. And the big red button at the end of the cord.</p><p>“That’s the call button. If you need something between my rounds, or if you start not feeling well, you can hit the big red button. It’ll buzz my pager, and I’ll come running,” she said. She sorted through a few things in the cabinet before pulling another bag out of it. “We locked your phone and keys and wallet in here for safekeeping. I can either keep them there until morning, or you can keep them on the tray by your bed. Your jacket is hanging up, in the close by the door.”</p><p>“I’ll take them. Please.”</p><p>She nodded, walking over, bag in hand. Before she handed it to Stiles, she hesitated. “No visitors, and don’t be loud. Protocol has me unable to close your door in case of emergency, so sound tends to carry down the hall.”</p><p>“Yes ma’am.”</p><p>Lucia smiled at him again. “Anything else?”</p><p>“More ice chips when you come back?”</p><p>“That I can do.”</p><p>“I talk in my sleep sometimes,” he added suddenly. He wasn’t entirely sure of that, but he figured it would be a decent enough cover. He doubted the fox was going to stay so quiet all night. “Not night terrors or anything. Just talking.”</p><p>“Good to know. Thank you.” She nodded once before handing over the bag with the phone. “No games either, please. You do need to recover.”</p><p>Stiles nodded. “I really am just going to let my friends know I’m okay. I’ll keep it quiet.”</p><p>“Then it looks like pudding may be in your future,” she said. “I’ll be back in a bit on my rounds.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>As soon as Lucia left, door pulled about halfway shut behind her, Stiles opened the bag and pulled out his phone. Fortunately, there weren’t that many notifications – and those that were there weren’t urgent.</p><p>A text from Boyd: <em>Call us in the morning if you're up for it. Please. </em></p><p>He smiled slightly, leaving that text unread so he'd see it in the morning. He'd have to call them first thing, even if only to thank them for getting him medical help - though he'd have to fudge the cause, most likely. It didn't seem like the greatest idea to tell anyone that he'd opened the metaphorical door to body-share with a god. </p><p>The fox agreed almost immediately. <em>I would request, spark, that you keep our involvement a private affair between you and I. I am strong enough to protect us from any potential harm, but the Druid has practiced at the new moon for decades. He has tasted a pittance of my magic, and I will not risk my freedom when it is so close. </em></p><p>Stiles nodded to himself. “Makes sense,” he said quietly, plucking the last ice chip out of the cup and popping it into his mouth. “Not going to be fun when they all find out, though.”</p><p>
  <em>If we are successful, they need never know. The Druid will meet the fate that awaits him, but I am more than capable of achieving my freedom without alerting your wolves to my presence.</em>
</p><p>“I don’t want to lie to them when they’re as worried as they are,” he said, looking through the few text messages. He paused at the text from Jordan Parrish, with an unsolicited invitation for coffee to talk. Stiles scowled – he hadn’t given the deputy his phone number.</p><p>
  <em>The arrogant hound.</em>
</p><p>Stiles snorted. He’d have to figure out what to do about that, but it wasn’t anywhere near a priority at the moment. Instead, he pulled up his texts with Peter. He hesitated for a moment before composing a quick text.</p><p>To: Sexy Lazarus<br/>
<em>had an unexpected change in plans tonight. need you to promise not to freak out</em></p><p>He wasn’t expecting an immediate response, so Stiles shifted in the bed, getting a bit more comfortable. As he closed his eyes, he felt the odd sensation of something heavy settling in the bed next to him. “Fox?” he asked quietly.</p><p>The now-familiar almost-purr comforted him. <em>It is only myself. You are sharing your form with me, but my tails must remain separate from your mortal body, else you will be irrevocably changed and I will not do so without the explicit consent of my disciple. You have already made your request to retain your humanity. </em></p><p>“Thanks,” Stiles said quietly.</p><p>He settled into a calm silence for a few minutes, interrupted only by the buzz of his phone, alerting him to an incoming text message.</p><p>From: Sexy Lazarus<br/>
<em>That’s certainly not an ominous start to a conversation. What’s happened?</em></p><p>To: Sexy Lazarus<br/>
<em>promise ur not gonna freak out</em></p><p>Peter didn’t respond with another text. Instead, seconds after Stiles sent his text, his phone screen lit up with an incoming call.</p><p>Stiles bit back a quiet groan but answered the phone. “Hey Peter.”</p><p>Peter was silent for a moment. “Why are you in the hospital, pet?”</p><p>“Shit, you figured it out that fast?”</p><p>A quiet huff answered him. “My senses are stronger than yours, Stiles, and until recently, I spent a great deal of time in the Beacon Hills hospital. It’s sounds are not unfamiliar to me,” he said, his tone one of careful, deliberate calm. “Why are you in the hospital?”</p><p>“I got brought in for overnight observation.”</p><p>“You are aware that I can hear when you’re lying.”</p><p>“It’s not a lie,” Stiles said quietly, shooting an almost nervous look over toward the door.</p><p>Peter let out an unhappy rumble that crackled through the phone. “And yet your heartbeat stuttered. You’re not telling me the entire truth.”</p><p>Stiles frowned. “I had a thing at the gallery opening,” he said. “I’ll tell you, but you still haven’t promised that you’re not going to freak out.”</p><p>“You are in the hospital, pet. I cannot promise you calm, but I will do my best.”</p><p>He paused, nodding to himself. That made sense. He pulled in a deep breath, bracing himself for what he hoped wasn’t going to be a painful conversation. “I had a seizure at the opening. Erica and Boyd called an ambulance, and I got brought here. They did a brain scan on me and took some blood and are keeping me here overnight for observation.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“It’s really not bad. I mean, I don’t like the way it smells in here, and your bed is way more comfortable than the one I’m in right now, but I’m only in overnight. It’s basically like the most sterile hotel stay in the world. I can cop it for one night.”</p><p>“Do you want me there?”</p><p>“Visiting hours are over.”</p><p>“Do you really expect that to be a hindrance to me, pet?” Peter asked, and Stiles could <em>hear</em> the man’s quirked eyebrow.</p><p>“Right, because werewolves are ninjas,” Stiles said, smirking to himself. “I’m okay alone for now. The night nurse is cool, and she’s bribing me with the promise of pudding if I’m good. Want me to see if I can swing you a cup?”</p><p>Peter snorted. “Hospital pudding has never been palatable.”</p><p>“Yeah, but it’s better than the jello.” He paused for a moment. “Please tell me you’re not freaking out about this.”</p><p>He was silent for a long enough pause that Stiles started to get nervous. “I’m not about to commit any major crimes because you’ve been admitted to the hospital.”</p><p>“Trespassing is a misdemeanor.”</p><p>“So it is, pet,” Peter said. “But you’ve said you’ll be fine for the night. What was the cause of the seizure?”</p><p>Stiles felt the heavy weight of the fox’s tails twitch against his leg. “They’re not sure. That’s why I’m in overnight,” he said. “Lucia, the night nurse, said they’ve ruled out bad brain stuff. No encephalitis or atrophy or anything, and they took a blood sample to see if that gives them any hints.”</p><p>“And how do you feel?”</p><p>“Sore,” he said. “Tired. Both apparently to be expected after a seizure. But other than that, I feel pretty good.” </p><p>Peter hummed. “You’re sure of that?”</p><p>Stiles nodded. “Yeah. Just physically exhausted.”</p><p>Peter was silent for a few seconds. “What time do visitor’s hours start?” he asked.</p><p>“Not sure.”</p><p>“Let me know when you find out. I’ll come by in the morning with coffee and something much more appetizing than pudding,” he said. “If you’d like.”</p><p>Stiles sighed, smiling slightly at the thought of coffee. “Really?”</p><p>Peter huffed again. “Of course, pet. If you change your mind and want me there overnight, text me and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”</p><p>Stiles’ smile grew. “Thanks, Peter.”</p><p>“Sleep well, pet. I’ll see you in the morning.”</p><p>“You too,” he said, ending the call. He found himself smiling down at his phone for a long few minutes.</p><p><em>You have made quite the alliance with the mad wolf. He will make a fine consort for the disciple of a god, when you are ready to choose</em>.</p><p>That pulled the smile from his face, a confused furrow replacing it. “What?”</p><p>
  <em>You are still quite young, spark. I know you mortals are short lived, but there is a great deal of life in you yet, and consorts are not to be selected frivolously. I can see from your memories that he has done quite a bit to prove himself worthy of your consideration.</em>
</p><p>“You can see my memories?”</p><p>
  <em>An effect of sharing your form. I able to share my memories with you as well, should you care to see. </em>
</p><p>“Could be interesting,” Stiles mused. After all, how often did one get the chance to see the memories from a creature that was thousands of years old. “But you are a chaos god, so it doesn’t sound like good for sleep.”</p><p>A quiet chittering echoed in the room. <em>I see no cause to disturb your rest with my more eventful memories. Close your eyes and I will share what peace I have known. </em></p><p>Stiles nodded, setting his phone on the bedside tray, and shifted in the bed again, this time curling a bit around the weight of the tails on the bed. He closed his eyes, sighing happily when he felt the tails shift, almost wrapping him in an embrace.</p><p>…</p><p>He woe with a start when the tails went stiff, bristling, accompanied by a quiet chittering in the back of his head.</p><p><em>Traitors. Trespassers. They have betrayed your trust and taken liberties with your relationship to them</em>.</p><p>Stiles tried to sit up, but found himself unable to move. “What’s happening?”</p><p>
  <em>I will not expect you to beg for my assistance, spark. I am more than willing to use all my considerable skills to protect my disciples.</em>
</p><p>“Is that why I can’t move?” Stiles asked, the thought only belatedly crossing his mind that this sudden paralysis probably warranted a more extreme reaction than his sleep-fogged inquiry. </p><p>
  <em>You allowed me entry. I am controlling your mortal form in order to drive off these intruders. Once you are safe, I will relinquish control back to you. It is temporary, I assure you, and you will be fully aware of everything I do. Consider yourself the sole audience member to my performance.</em>
</p><p> Stiles hummed. He had enough control to pull in a deep breath and close his eyes again. “No blood.”</p><p>
  <em>I will try. </em>
</p><p>Seconds later, the door was pushed open, letting in the lighting from the hallway. Quiet footsteps came in and approached the bed.</p><p>Stiles’ body didn’t move, no doubt giving off the impression that he was still entirely asleep.</p><p>“Oh, Stiles.” Melissa’s voice was quiet, but tinged with what almost sounded like regret. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get here earlier.” She brushed a hand over Stiles’ head.</p><p>His body jerked back, eyes shooting open to pin a glare on Melissa.</p><p>She flinched back, withdrawing her hand. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” Stiles heard himself ask – though there was a noticeable tinge of something otherworldly in his tone.</p><p>“I’m listed as your secondary emergency contact,” she said, still seeming uncertain at his reaction to her. “I saw a call come through from Lucia while we were driving back, but I thought it would be something to do with my time off. I’m so sorry.”</p><p>“So you’ve claimed.”</p><p>She sighed. “I haven’t given you much consideration this summer, all things considered. I know you and Scott had an argument about dating Allison.”</p><p>Stiles bristled internally. It wasn’t as much about <em>dating </em>Allison as it was Scott’s behavior being accurately called out for inappropriate and borderline stalking behavior. He felt the fox take notice of that, but did his best not to give too much more information. If the fox pushed, he’d talk about it later – not while Melissa was anywhere nearby. </p><p>“I also know the full story from Scott.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door, toward the unoccupied hallway. “About the werewolf thing," she clarified, lowering her voice. "I know you were involved, too. We should have a conversation about all that, once you’ve been released from the hospital.”</p><p>Stiles bared his teeth at her, shuffling back away from her as much as he could in the bed.</p><p>She frowned at him. “Stiles?”</p><p>In his mind’s eye, Stiles felt something shift within him. He had a feeling his eyes were glowing that same eerie silver he’d seen on the fox. His hands curled into each other, and he felt an odd tingling underneath his fingernails and under his gums. “There is nothing for us to discuss,” he said – only his voice was not his own, but that of the fox, accent and sharp edges and all.</p><p>Melissa stepped back, the blood draining from her face. “Stiles? Sweetheart, what’s wrong with you?”</p><p>“I have no inclination to hear lip-service apologies from a woman so keen on blaming a teenager for the behaviors of her son, who is well old enough to know better. He repeatedly and deliberately put lives at danger, and manipulated a traumatized man into performing actions without his consent, further exploiting his trauma for your son’s benefit. All done to fuel his obsession and attempt to win the favor from the child of a hunter,” the fox snapped through Stiles’ mouth.</p><p>Stiles paused. Not only because he hadn’t realized the fox had dug that far into his mind, but also because he had the distinct impression that several of his teeth were much, <em>much </em>sharper than normal. The slight taste of copper in his mouth only confirmed that suspicion.</p><p>“Are you alright? Do you need me to get you the doctor?” Melissa asked, a noticeable waver in her voice.</p><p>Stiles felt himself sit up, hands flexing to display lethal-looking claws.</p><p>“Your feckless whelp has threatened my disciple several times. Nothing would please me more at this moment than to pin him down, rip his still-beating heart from his chest, and devour it as his life fades from him,” the fox said, tone shifting to a more moderate one. Which Stiles somehow found much more terrifying. “The only thing that stays my claws is the fact that my disciple would object, though the threat of you spewing what you hope passes for an apology is quite the temptation to disregard his objections.”</p><p>Melissa went completely stock-still, a look of utter terror on her face.</p><p>Scott burst into the room, slamming the door open with enough force that it bounced off the wall with a loud thud. “Mom?” he asked, eyes glowing bright gold and beta-shift out in full force. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“Ah,” the fox drawled. “The whelp himself.”</p><p>Scott growled, baring fangs at Stiles. “What the <em>hell</em>?”</p><p>“Take your mother and get out.”</p><p>“Stiles?” Scott asked, his anger quickly blending with confusion and no small amount of fear.</p><p>“I said get <em>out</em>,” the fox shouted, using Stiles’ voice and injecting no small amount of anger to his tone.</p><p>Stiles felt that same tingling sensation under his gums and fingernails again.  </p><p>“Stiles?” Scott asked again. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”</p><p>Neither Stiles nor the fox got the chance to answer that question.</p><p>Lucia appeared in the doorway, slightly out of breath and hair buns akimbo, with her pager in hand. It took her seconds to take stock of the room, and as she put together the pieces, she turned an incensed glare onto Melissa. “Are you out of your goddamn <em>mind</em>, Melissa?”</p><p>“I got a call earlier. I’m Stiles’ secondary emergency contact.”</p><p>“Sure,” Lucia said, stalking into the room and very noticeably positioning herself between Stiles’ bed and the two McCalls. “And I’m sure that justification would hold water if you’d returned that call, or checked in with me when you got here, since I’m the lead night nurse and you’re well aware of protocol.”</p><p>“There’s something wrong with Stiles,” Scott interrupted, a peevish look on his face.</p><p>Lucia turned an unimpressed gaze on him. “Why don’t you leave the diagnosing to those of us in this room who have had dedicated training and years of experience in healthcare?” she asked. “And you’ve been around long enough to know that visitor’s hours are over. You’re not Stiles’ family or his first or second emergency contact, so you’re not allowed to be in here.”</p><p>“He’s my best friend.”</p><p>Stiles felt the fox recede more fully, granting him full control of his body again. “They woke me up,” he said plaintively.</p><p>“He’s not healthy,” Melissa said, narrowing her eyes at Stiles.</p><p>“That would be why he’s in the hospital for observation,” Lucia said. “Both of you, out.”</p><p>The two of them pulled on nearly identical stubborn expressions.</p><p>“<em>Now</em>, or I will call security.” And that was an unexpected spark of fury from an otherwise relatively unassuming woman.</p><p>There were a few seconds where it looked like they were going to argue, but Melissa nodded. She headed out of the room, taking hold of Scott’s elbow and pulling him out of the room.</p><p>Once Lucia was satisfied that Stiles’ privacy had been restored, she turned around to face him. “Are you alright?”</p><p>Stiles nodded, watching her. “Does this mean I’m not cooperative?”</p><p>She looked at him, lips pursed but an otherwise pleasant expression on her face. “You’re not to blame for that, at all,” she said. “Melissa has worked here for years, so she’s got no excuse for deliberately skirting protocols about not agitating patients and bringing visitors. And Scott’s not completely ignorant of that either, with how long his mother’s worked here and how often he’s come by while she's on shift.”</p><p>He nodded again, watching as Lucia checked a few things around the room before deeming everything alright.</p><p>“I have to make a note about this in your file, and they won’t be allowed to visit you for the rest of the time you’re admitted.”</p><p>“That’s okay.”</p><p>“And Melissa’s going to have to get written up,” Lucia said, though this was much quieter, as though she was speaking more to herself than to Stiles.</p><p><em>As is only appropriate</em>, the fox said. <em>Trespassing and demanding more than was her right. I have slaughtered for less</em>. As Lucia left the room and began speaking in quiet, furious tones to Melissa, the fox once again relaxed and the weight of the fox’s tails returned to settle around Stiles. <em>Rest, spark. I will keep watch of us.</em></p><p>Stiles hummed quietly but found himself doing as told, slipping into sleep more easily than he could remember. A quiet purr ushered him fully into unconsciousness.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>so, since the last chapter, the US Capitol got invaded by nazis and fascists, the president got impeached again, and I'm close enough to the area where shit went down that my landlords, my boss, <i>and</i> my parents have all reached out with the same message of basically "keep yourself safe in case this shit starts up again". exciting times, right? </p><p>but hey, this chapter's up and finished, and things are starting to get fun -- in the story, at least</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Stiles (part 1)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The next time he woke up, it was to the much more pleasant smell of hot coffee. Stiles let out a happy grumble and stretched, slowly opening his eyes.</p>
<p>Peter had taken a seat in the chair in the room and was absently scrolling through his phone. He smirked when Stiles smiled at him, making grabby hands at the coffee sitting on the table next to Peter. “Good morning, pet,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly at Stiles.  </p>
<p>“Is that for me?”</p>
<p>“My phone?” he asked. “You’ve got your own. I do have a charger in my car, if you’re running low on battery and you’re discharged.”</p>
<p>“The coffee?” Stiles asked, his voice thick with sleep. “I can’t smell any cinnamon.” He stretched again, this time a lazy, contented movement. He could feel the fox in him, his skin feeling too tight but somehow not uncomfortable. There was a sleepy, quiet purr, but not much else. “Sharing is caring, sugarplum.”</p>
<p>Peter quirked an eyebrow at the nickname.</p>
<p>Stiles groaned. “I just woke up, Peter, c’mon. Be nice.”</p>
<p>“I don’t recall ever being particularly nice, pet,” Peter said, even as he stood up, taking the coffee in hand. “Say please.”</p>
<p>“Dude, I will say pretty please if you give me the coffee.”</p>
<p>The older man snorted. “Sit up. You’ll only be in here longer if you burn yourself, and the coffee’s hot.”</p>
<p>Stiles did as told, levering himself up into a sitting position. He reached for the coffee, breathing it in as Peter slowly let go of it, making sure that Stiles had a solid grip on the takeaway cup. “Still early, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Visitor’s hours start in about fifteen minutes.”</p>
<p>“Trespassing’s still illegal even after sun up,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Peter.</p>
<p>Peter just gave him a calm, almost placid look.</p>
<p>Stiles rolled his eyes. “If the nurse catches you, I’m gonna laugh.”</p>
<p>“Nurse Leia is well aware I’m here. I brought her a coffee and pastries,” he said. “And I am under strict orders not to aggravate you.” He turned back to the chair, picking up a small paper bag that Stiles hadn’t noticed before. “Apparently you had something of an eventful night?”</p>
<p>He shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee and sighing happily. “Her name is Lucia. What’s in the bag?”</p>
<p>“Cinnamon pull-apart bread.”</p>
<p>“You and cinnamon, man,” Stiles said, though he started eyeing the bag. “You want to share?”</p>
<p>Peter hummed, reaching into the bag and pulling out a piece. “Why don’t you go first?” he asked. There was an odd look in his eye that suggested he had something he wanted to hear from Stiles.</p>
<p>Stiles felt the phantom weight of the fox’s tails twitch against him. He shrugged. “Melissa and Scott are back in town,” he said, going for nonchalance. “They snuck in my room here overnight. Melissa was going for the comforting angle, saying she was checking up on me cause she got a call as my secondary emergency contact. Scott came in too, and they got loud when I didn’t want them there.”</p>
<p>That seemed to mollify Peter enough for him to offer Stiles the next piece.</p>
<p>He took it, letting out a quiet moan as it practically melted in his mouth. “This is really good, dude.”</p>
<p>“Better than hospital-grade pudding, at any rate,” Peter said. “Why didn’t you want Scott and Melissa here?”</p>
<p>“They woke me up.”</p>
<p>“I don’t recall you being particularly combative when I’ve woken you up,” he said.</p>
<p>Stiles shrugged, turning his gaze down to his coffee cup. “Yeah, but when I’m sleeping with you, it’s not in a hospital bed after I’ve had a medical incident,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, but Peter had called him out on an inconsistent heartbeat before, and he wasn’t particularly interested in repeating that. “And you’re always there, so it’s not like I’m alone to freak out when someone suddenly touches my face in the middle of the night.”</p>
<p>Peter frowned at that. “McCall touched you?”</p>
<p>“Melissa petted my head. Like you do sometimes,” he said.</p>
<p>Peter’s frown darkened into a scowl. “Is that so.”</p>
<p>Stiles chanced a glance up at Peter, not surprised at the irritated look on his face. “Dude.”</p>
<p>He huffed, but relented, offering Stiles another piece of the bread.</p>
<p>He took one, making a happy noise and wiggling happily as he bit into it.</p>
<p>“I take it that means you’re feeling better,” Lucia said as she walked into the room. “Mister Hale. You are aware that caffeine can increase my patient's heartbeat, which is against our agreement.”</p>
<p>“You made an agreement with Lucia?” Stiles asked, amused. “What happen? She catch you trying to sneak in?”</p>
<p>Peter narrowed his eyes at Stiles.</p>
<p>“He came up to the desk with breakfast and asked politely,” she said. “Now, really, how are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“Less exhausted,” Stiles said. “Probably still sore, though, once I get up. I thought your shift ended earlier?”</p>
<p>She smiled. “It did. I’m on my way out, but I wanted to check in on you before I left,” she said. She reached into her purse and offered him a small plastic container. “And I believe I owe you this. We’re out of peanut butter, so you’re going to have to settle for banana.”</p>
<p>Peter’s lip curled up at that, and he retracted his pastry bag.</p>
<p>“Snob,” Stiles said as he took the container and set it on the bedside tray next to his phone. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>Lucia grinned at the exchange. “Of course. Now, I would really appreciate never seeing you in here as a patient again.”</p>
<p>He nodded. “Same.”</p>
<p>Her amusement softened into a small, genuine smile. “Good.” She looked over at Peter. “I fudged the rules to let you in because you promised you wouldn’t antagonize him. You mess that up, or you give the doctor a hard time, and I will blacklist you in his file to make sure you have no future visiting privileges. Are we clear?”</p>
<p>Peter nodded, dutifully ignoring the smirk Stiles was failing to hide behind his coffee. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” she said. “Doctor Sanchez is going to be in –”</p>
<p>“Right now,” an older woman said as she walked in, medical file in hand. She shot Peter an odd look before looking over at Lucia. “Your shift is over, isn't it? I thought you would be long gone by now?”</p>
<p>Lucia shook her head. “I'm on my way out after one final check in with Stiles here,” she said.</p>
<p>“And providing hospital contraband, I see,” the doctor said, gesturing at the pudding on the tray. “Those are supposed to be distributed at lunch.”</p>
<p>She shrugged. “He asked nicely, and there was a minor disturbance overnight. The details are in the digital file,” she said. “Feel better, Stiles. Doc, I’ll see you when I’m back in for my shift later tonight.” </p>
<p>Doctor Sanchez nodded. “I thought you were off?”</p>
<p>Lucia shrugged. “We’re short staffed. I pulled the extra shift this week.”</p>
<p>“Get some rest, then,” she said.</p>
<p>She nodded and headed out.</p>
<p>Doctor Sanchez looked over at Peter. “I understand you’re neither family nor spouse of my patient?” she asked.</p>
<p>Stiles snorted, clearly amused. “He’s cool. He brought me coffee.”</p>
<p>“And you’re comfortable with him being in here while I talk with you?”</p>
<p>He nodded. “He’s gonna hear it from me anyway,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. Unable to resist the temptation, Stiles grinned to himself. It was a damn shame his Bugs Bunny impression sucked. "So what’s up, doc?”</p>
<p>She gave him a look, no double well aware what he'd been thinking about. “Lucia’s got noted that she spoke to you last night and you were coherent. You have any recollection of that conversation, Mister Stilinski?”</p>
<p>He nodded again. “I was tired as shit, yeah, but I remember it. She said my CT scan didn’t show anything concerning, and then she took blood for testing,” he said.</p>
<p>Doctor Sanchez nodded once, glancing down at the file in her hands. “Good,” she said. “We’re still running a couple of tests on the blood, but the preliminary results aren’t showing anything. It’ll be about thirty-six more hours until we get final results, but a clear preliminary tends to be a pretty positive sign, especially when paired with no other seizure incidents overnight.”</p>
<p>“So does that mean I can go?”</p>
<p>“It means you’ve got clean preliminary test results,” she said. “Since this was a single occurrence with no history, I don’t want to go so far as prescribing any anticonvulsive medication, especially on the off chance they might interact badly with your established prescription.”</p>
<p>“Should I lay off that?”</p>
<p>She paused, looking back down at the file. “Adderall for, what, six years now?”</p>
<p>“Seven,” Stiles said.</p>
<p>“And if it’s been an established routine for that long, then I don’t want to interrupt that. Some of the meds I could prescribe for seizures could interact badly with that, and I have no real interest in potentially inducing a psychotic episode in you.”</p>
<p>Stiles swallowed thickly at that. “Yeah, me neither.”</p>
<p>She offered him a small smile. “I’m glad we agree. And since you’re keen to agree with me, I’m also going to recommend that you not drive for the next couple of months.”</p>
<p>“Couple meaning two?” Stiles asked.</p>
<p>“Couple meaning six. We don’t know what happened, and without an identifiable cause, I’m not entirely comfortable giving you the greenlight to get behind the wheel,” she said. She caught a glimpse of the mulish expression on Stiles’ face and frowned. “It’s not a permanent ban. The DMV doesn’t need to be notified, since there’s no official diagnosis. I just want to have something of a baseline time without another incident.”</p>
<p>Stlies grumbled unhappily. “But my Jeep?”</p>
<p>“I am capable of playing the role of chauffeur,” Peter offered.</p>
<p>Stiles glanced over at him, conflicted. One the one hand, <em>his Jeep</em>. Roscoe was his baby, and he couldn’t see himself not driving for the next week, let alone six months. But then, Peter’s car was truly a thing of beauty. Six months being driven around in the Batmobile, with Peter playing the role of Alfred, wasn’t exactly something to sneeze at.</p>
<p>As if knowing the direction Stiles’ thoughts were going, Peter narrowed his eyes at him. “And I’m sure once he goes back to school, we can figure something out to ensure he’s not in a position where his only option is to drive.”</p>
<p>Stiles sighed heavily.</p>
<p>Doctor Sanchez, on the other hand, nodded, looking satisfied. “I appreciate that,” she said. “Now, your stats have been pretty stable overnight, and with the preliminary results being clean, I don’t see the need to keep you hospitalized until the full panel comes back. Unless you’re particularly inclined to spend the next few days in this hospital?”</p>
<p>He shook his head, perking back up. “No, no, I’m good. I’m ready to go.”</p>
<p>“On one condition.”</p>
<p>That pulled a groan out of him, and only the fact that he was holding coffee in his hands held him back from flopping dramatically back onto the bed. As it was, he rolled his eyes and scowled down at the coffee cup. “Of course there is.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want you to be alone until we get the panel results back. I’m optimistic, since you’ve had a quiet night, but until the test results come back, I want you to have someone around in case you have another incident.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” That wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d expected. Stiles looked over at Peter, who only smirked at him. “I think I can do that.”</p>
<p>Peter snorted. “I’ll keep an eye on him until the results come in.”</p>
<p>Doctor Sanchez nodded. “As long as you’re both willing, that works for me,” she said.</p>
<p>“Does that mean I can go now?” Stiles asked, suddenly eager to leave. He could go home, shower the hospital smell off of him, and pester Peter until he’d convinced the older man to head into the Preserve and wander around in the woods with him. The prospect of being released suddenly had him itching to wander around the woods – and judging by the sudden twitching of the tails he could feel, it wasn’t just him feeling that itch.</p>
<p>She frowned. “This is not my giving you the green light to go out and be reckless. You have just spent the night in the hospital, and I’d like you to stay cognizant of that fact as you go charging back into the world.”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded.</p>
<p>Peter shifted, taking the coffee out of Stiles’ hands as he fidgeted. “I’ll do my best to rein him in while you’re waiting for the test results,” he said.</p>
<p>She laughed quietly. “I appreciate the effort,” she said. “Let me go get the discharge papers and you’ll be out of here in about ten minutes, Mister Stilinski.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>A little bit less than ten minutes later, Stiles was walking out of the hospital, drinking his coffee and letting Peter steer him out to the car.</p>
<p>“Spill the coffee and I’ll be forced to consider having you ride in the trunk, pet,” he said, even as he opened the door for Stiles. “Am I taking you back to your house or mine?”</p>
<p>Stiles paused. “I’ve got clothes at your place, right?” he asked.</p>
<p>“If there aren’t any of yours, I’m perfectly willing to share.” As soon as Stiles sat in the passenger’s seat, he dropped the pastry bag into his lap. “So, yours or mine?”</p>
<p>“Mine, just in case my dad’s home and wants to talk, but then yours after. You didn’t have plans today that I’m fucking up, did you?”</p>
<p>“Pet, you’ve just been discharged from the hospital. My only plan is to tail your every step so I can make sure you’re feeling better.”</p>
<p>Stiles grinned up at him. “Tailing on two legs or four?”</p>
<p>Peter rolled his eyes and just shut the car door. He rounded the car, not surprised to see Stiles setting his pudding cup in the cupholder, immediately abandoning it in favor of the bread. “If you eat all of that, I will be less inclined to share food in the future,” he said as he got into the driver’s seat.</p>
<p>He looked up at Peter, his cheeks chipmunked out. “Liar,” he said, his voice a bit muffled by his mouthful of bread.</p>
<p>He snorted, amused, but snatched the bag back. “Swallow that before you choke.”</p>
<p>“That’s what she said,” Stiles said, still working through the mouthful.</p>
<p>Peter snorted again. “If you survive that, you might want to check your phone. Erica’s been texting me for the past few hours, and if she doesn’t hear from you soon, I’d be willing to lay odds she’ll be hunting you down to get answers,” he said.</p>
<p>“You didn’t tell her anything?”</p>
<p>He shook his head. “Setting aside the fact that I didn’t know much until the doctor provided her update, I didn’t know if you’d want to share that information with her yourself.”</p>
<p>“Look at you being all conscious of HIPAA statutes, dude.”</p>
<p>The older man rolled his eyes. “My silence has little to do with pesky human rules about healthcare, pet,” he said, starting the car.</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“I may tolerate Erica, to the point that I am lenient enough to tolerate most of her inane questions-“</p>
<p>“And help her pick out fancy shoes,” Stiles said, fishing his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans. “She namedropped you when talking about them.”</p>
<p>“When Derek Bit her, he undertook a great deal of responsibility in keeping Erica whole and alive. His behavior to this point has been much the opposite, and I can see the asset Erica could make to a proper Pack, if she is given the necessary protection and a competent Alpha to guide her. Since she has been given neither, I merely pointed out that she is <em>technically</em>, by supernatural standards, the ward of my nephew, and as such, able to utilize whatever possessions of his she needs to thrive while under his care.”</p>
<p>Stiles stared at Peter, phone briefly forgotten. He hadn’t expected that level of honesty when it came to Peter’s thoughts on Erica. “That’s an awful long way of saying that you stole Derek’s credit card again,” he said.</p>
<p>Peter huffed out a quiet laugh. “Be that as it may, my actions with Erica did not progress beyond wolves who share a commonality. Derek only very barely considers me part of his Pack, and as such, it would be inappropriate for me to seek any significant connection to the wolves he holds in higher regard,” he said. “Of course, I have no real intention of connecting with any of his motley crew.”</p>
<p>“How come?” Stiles asked. “Apart from the part where you’re like twice their age, and if you start calling any of them ‘pet’, I’m gonna break up with you.”</p>
<p>That pulled another laugh from Peter. “I have no intention of jeopardizing whatever affection you hold for me by chasing after wolves that haven’t made it through their first full year yet, and who were Turned by my nephew.” He smirked. “I am very much a one-pet wolf.”</p>
<p>Stiles stared again. He felt his ears go hot. “So –”</p>
<p>“So this is all a very convoluted way for me to tell you that I will not betray your confidences to those I do not consider a member of my Pack,” he said. “Of which there is only one member.”</p>
<p>He was at a complete loss for words.</p>
<p>Peter returned the gaze, his expression almost smug at Stiles’ continued speechlessness. His eyes flickered supernaturally blue, and his body seemed almost to ripple, as if he was having trouble holding back his shift.</p>
<p>Stiles had a feeling that, were it not for the fact that Peter was in the driver’s seat with his seatbelt already fastened, and the two of them not in a hospital parking lot, he’d be finding himself with an enormous wolf sprawled on top of him. “That, um. That’s a lot,” he said. “Not too much, I don’t think. Just a lot.”</p>
<p>“But?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, man. I don’t think there’s a ‘but’. It’s just unexpected, is all.”</p>
<p>Peter hummed. “We werewolves are creatures capable of intense loyalty, pet. Mine is dedicated to you,” he said. “Call Erica while we’re on your way to your house. Setting aside everything else, I don’t have the patience to put up with her personality today,” he said. “And I’m disinclined to share you for the time being.”</p>
<p>Stiles turned his focus back to his phone, but shot Peter a look out of the corner of his eyes at that. “That’s borderline creepy, dude.”</p>
<p>He hummed again, smile returning. “As am I, pet,” he said.</p>
<p>Stiles rolled his eyes. He looked through his text messages, not surprised to see the barrage of messages he’d gotten from Erica – most of them asking if he was okay, when he’d be getting out of the hospital, if he was going to call her, and when she’d be allowed to see him. Boyd had sent a few of his own, mostly giving well wishes, but a final text, sent around four in the morning, was something he’d never expected from the recalcitrant teenager. <em>If you need the Bite to be cured and Derek’s being an asshole, I’ll call Alpha Blackwood. I’d rather have you a living wolf in another Pack than dead or unnecessarily permanently damaged. </em></p>
<p>“Huh.”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>Stiles looked over at Peter. “I didn’t know Boyd liked me as much as it looks like he does, is all,” he said, erring on the side of caution. He wasn’t sure how Peter would react to Boyd’s text, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out at that moment. Not while he was driving, at any rate.</p>
<p>He glanced through the rest of his text messages, and, finding nothing urgent, started the call to Erica.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, she answered halfway through the first ring. “Stiles? You’re okay, right?”</p>
<p>“Hi Erica,” he said, grinning a bit. “I’m good. I’m with Peter, too.”</p>
<p>“I could hear a second heartbeat, I figured it was him. Boyd’s kind of here too. He’s meditating.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Doc Ford suggested it. I’ve tried it, but I always end up falling asleep halfway through,” she said. “Are you still in the hospital? What happened?”</p>
<p>Stiles shook his head. “Not in the hospital,” he said, before pausing briefly. If he focused, he could feel the fox’s tails wrapped loosely around him, and he could feel an odd sensation in the back of his mind. A shadow, of sorts, that gave off the impression of warm fur. “Doctor isn’t sure what all happened,” he said, the quiet purr of the fox a comfort. “I’m on orders to take it easy for the next six months.”</p>
<p>“They told me that after my first seizure, too,” she said. “No swimming, no rock climbing, no bubble baths.”</p>
<p>“Bubble baths?”</p>
<p>“I was twelve when I was diagnosed. Also, fuck you, bubble baths are <em>excellent</em>,” she said. A pause, and then: “Shit, are you allowed to drive?”</p>
<p>Stiles scowled. “No,” he groused.</p>
<p>Peter snorted. “You’re being driven around in a six-figure luxury coupe for the next six months, pet. Try to sound less enthused about that.”</p>
<p>Erica whistled. “Uncle Peter’s driving you?” she asked, and he could <em>hear</em> the grin forming on her face. “You gonna make him dress up like a chauffeur, hat and all?”</p>
<p>“I don’t think I could <em>make </em>Peter dress up like anything.”</p>
<p>“Not likely, though I’m certainly happy to dress down for you whenever you’d like.”</p>
<p>That had Erica cackling – even as Stiles felt himself go bright red.</p>
<p>“Back in full form, then, Uncle P?”</p>
<p>Peter let out a low growl, eyes flashing at the phone.</p>
<p>“She’s sleep deprived,” Boyd said as he entered the conversation. “No need to get into a pissing match and crash your supercar.” There was some quiet rustling on their side of the phone call. “Your Jeep is still parked over by Moira’s gallery.”</p>
<p>“Roscoe’s not going to get towed, right?”</p>
<p>“There’s no restriction on that parking lot, so you probably could leave it there for six months, if you wanted.” He paused. “Or one of us could drive it back to your place, so you could keep it in your driveway.”</p>
<p>Stiles frowned. That would mean he’d have to let someone else drive his Jeep. But then, it’s not like he could really leave it out in Beacon Valley. His father would ask questions about that. He paused, scowl growing darker, as he wondered why his dad hadn’t answered the call or shown up at the hospital. Surely he hadn’t been <em>that</em> overworked?</p>
<p>“Stiles?” Erica asked.</p>
<p>“Let me think about it,” he said. “It’s only been me and my mom who’ve driven Roscoe,” he said.</p>
<p>“I can ask if Moira’ll keep an eye on it while she’s at the gallery,” Boyd offered.</p>
<p>Stiles relaxed a bit at that. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>“Can we come see you?” Erica asked.</p>
<p>He hesitated, looking over at Peter.</p>
<p>He shrugged, leaving the decision to Stiles, but snatched a piece of bread out of the pastry bag.</p>
<p>“Maybe in a little while, but not right now,” he said. “I’m really looking forward to a shower and going somewhere that smells nothing like hospital.”</p>
<p>“You’re not going to be alone, though, right?” she asked.</p>
<p>Stiles shook his head, momentarily forgetting that she couldn’t see him. “Nah, Peter’s playing the role of service animal.”</p>
<p>Peter let out a low, unhappy rumble. “Watch it, pet.”</p>
<p>“Full blood test results come back in like another day and a half, so until then, Peter’s gonna be babysitting me,” he said. “Once the results come in, you can probably come over. If you don’t mind dealing with Peter.”</p>
<p>“And if we do?” Erica asked, though the smile was back in her voice.</p>
<p>“Then you’re welcome to bitch and moan about it, but I guarantee that won’t change anything," Peter retorted. </p>
<p>She laughed. “We can bring pizza over and watch stupid shit on tv.”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded, already looking forward to the prospect. “Works for me.”</p>
<p>“It’s a date, then,” she said. “You need anything before then, let us know. No matter what time.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Erica,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.” He ended the call and took another piece of bread out of the bag. “That went well.”</p>
<p>“So it would seem, pet,” he said.</p>
<p>“They’re pretty cool when Derek’s not around, oozing eau de asshole.” He looked over at Peter. “I know your Pack is just you and me, but do you think you’d ever consider them actual pack? Like, Pack with a capital ‘P’?”</p>
<p>Peter was silent for a moment. “I have no problem giving them an honest chance,” he said. “But there is a barrier in the form of my nephew. There is only so far I can go before my behavior is considered a challenge against the Alpha. The eau de asshole, as you so delightfully put it, is much more pungent to werewolves, and I’m not particularly inclined to have my throat ripped out again.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>The car pulled to a stop, and Stiles frowned, brow furrowing.</p>
<p>“Why’d we stop?”</p>
<p>“I believe that’s your house,” Peter said, gesturing across Stiles toward the house in question. “With your father’s cruiser in the driveway.”  </p>
<p>Stiles turned to look, frown growing more severe when he saw the cruiser. “Can you tell anything?”</p>
<p>“Not quite,” he said. “There’s too much noise from the other houses in the neighborhood. Do you want me to come inside with you?”</p>
<p>He paused, thinking it over. He wasn’t worried about the neighbors so much as he was having to explain Peter’s presence to his father – down that road was a conversation he had no interest in having with his dad. “Can you make sure my dad doesn’t see you?” he asked. “I don’t want him giving you a hard time.”</p>
<p>Peter nodded, turning off the car. “Of course, pet. Lead the way.”</p>
<p>Stiles pulled in a deep breath, shooting a glare at the cruiser. “Right. Great, let’s do this,” he said, getting out of the car.</p>
<p>Peter moved quickly, keeping himself within arm’s reach of Stiles.</p>
<p>Stiles didn't move, just stared at his house for another few seconds. Before he could think better of it, he turned and grabbed a fistful of Peter’s shirt, pulling the older man into a tight hug. He practically melted into it when Peter immediately returned the embrace, tracing his nose along Stiles’ temple and letting out a quiet rumble that Stiles felt in his bones. And one that the fox returned with a quiet purr of its own - not that Peter felt that. </p>
<p>“Not that I’m complaining,” Peter said quietly, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “But what brings this on?”</p>
<p>“You care,” he said, voice muffled from where he’d buried it into Peter’s shoulder. “Dad cares too, I think, but he’s got his own eau de asshole going on, and it smells a lot like Jim Beam most of the time. It’s just. It’s nice that someone sober cares.”</p>
<p>Peter’s arms tightened around Stiles, and he let out another low growl – this one accompanied by a flash of supernaturally blue eyes. “Stiles –”</p>
<p>Stiles held onto Peter for another moment before stepping back. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?” he asked. Without waiting for a response, he headed inside, well aware that Peter was no more than a step or two behind him.</p>
<p>He hesitated briefly at the front door, pulling in another deep breath before unlocking it and walking inside. He looked around, expecting the worst, and felt the fox tails bristle as he moved further inside, getting more and more nervous about what, exactly, he’d find. An odd flash of dark obscured his vision for a second, and he stumbled.</p>
<p>Peter caught him with a hand around his upper arm. “Are you alright?” he asked, narrowing his eyes when Stiles met his gaze.</p>
<p>Stiles nodded. “You hear anything?”</p>
<p>“Heartbeat in the kitchen.” He looked around, his lip curling up into a sneer. “It smells like your house was steeped in bourbon.”</p>
<p>Stiles sighed. He felt an angry rattle of the fox inside him, communicating its irritation without words, and tails lashing back and forth behind him.</p>
<p>Peter cocked his head to the side, an odd expression on his face as he watched Stiles.</p>
<p>Doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut, Stiles headed into the kitchen.</p>
<p>What he found there was an all-too-familiar sight. Of course, he hadn’t seen it in several years. Not since his mother’s death.</p>
<p>His dad was passed out at the kitchen table, case files spread out on the table in front of him and a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam. Clutched in one hand was an empty glass, in the other, a small notebook that would be filled with scribbled case notes.</p>
<p>He sighed. At least this time he wasn’t ten years old, being woken up by the smoke detector shrieking about the pizza that had been burnt into a charred circle.</p>
<p>The fox let out another angry chatter, echoing loudly in Stiles’ mind. <em>Incompetence should be met with severe punishment. This is unacceptable</em>.</p>
<p>Stiles rubbed at his head, swallowing a pained groan. He pressed two fingers to the side of his dad’s throat, feeling for a pulse. It was steady.  </p>
<p>At the contact, his dad made a quiet snuffling sound, shifting slightly, and then let out a loud, unseemly snore. Behind the bottle of bourbon was his father’s cellphone. With three missed calls from the hospital, two missed calls and a text message from Melissa, and what looked like a text from Scott. All unread.</p>
<p>“Right,” Stiles said, suddenly fed up with the situation. “Right, fuck this.” He looked over at Peter, who was watching him again.</p>
<p>As soon as their eyes met, Peter’s eyes flared bright blue again. “Yes, pet?”</p>
<p>“You said I can wear some of your clothes if I don’t have any of my own at yours, right?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>“Mind if I stay with you for a while?”</p>
<p>Peter frowned slightly. “You’re always welcome with me, Stiles. I’d hope you’d know that by now.”</p>
<p>He shrugged one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he said. He headed over to the fridge, easily finding the note his dad had left him several weeks ago. Glaring at the <em>Call me if something comes up</em> message, Stiles grabbed one of the pens on the table and scribbled his own terse note.</p>
<p>
  <em>I’m alive.</em>
</p>
<p>He slapped the note on the table, pinning it in place with the bottle of bourbon and positioning it so it’d be impossible for his dad to miss the note. Feeling particularly petty, he set the phone next to his note.</p>
<p>Throughout all of this, his dad continued to snore loudly.</p>
<p>“So I was thinking,” Stiles said, turning back to Peter. “We go back to your place so I can shower the hospital smell off of me, and then you and me go wandering in the Preserve away from the trails. We can set up your hammock out in the woods, you can get your wolfie frolicks out, and then we can do the lazy napping thing for the day. How’s that sound?”</p>
<p>“Apart from the phrase ‘wolfie frolicks’,” Peter said with a pointed glare. “It sounds rather pleasant. I’ll even make sure we bring food that won’t turn your stomach,” he said.</p>
<p>Stiles frowned. “I’m not a picky eater, man. As long as it doesn’t attract bears or ants, any food is good.”</p>
<p>Peter’s expression went suddenly saccharine sweet, and Stiles had to force himself not to take a step back at the change. “Yes, pet, but those so-called wolfie frolicks can get rather messy, and while <em>I </em>am perfectly capable of sating myself on rabbits and birds and deer and the like, I somehow doubt you’d appreciate my bringing you my fresh kills for food.”</p>
<p>Stiles stared at Peter, not sure if the older man was fucking with him or not. Deciding it was probably better to err on the side of caution, he nodded. “Probably not today, no,” he said, walking over to him.</p>
<p>Peter watched him approach, an odd, almost wary look in his eyes. “How far out would you like to go today?”</p>
<p>“Just far enough that no one’s gonna find us by accident,” Stiles said, leaning against Peter. “But not so far out that we lose cell service.”</p>
<p>Peter hummed, wrapping an arm around Stiles’ shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ temple. “That, pet, I believe I can do.”</p>
<p>Stiles smiled, the expression a little bit sad as he heard his father snuffle-snort again before the snores resumed. Still, he didn’t so much as glance behind himself as he led Peter out of the house and back to the car. “Thanks, Peter.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ended up having to spilt up the last chapter - the second half should be up in the next few days or so :)</p>
<p>Also, just as a quick disclaimer, I have no medical training//official medical knowledge. Anywhere you see a mention of hospital info or procedures, that all came about from internet research, and should in no way be taken as me knowing what I'm talking about</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Stiles (part 2)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Once it was set up – and after carefully clambering into it, hoping he’d done it right and the hammock wasn’t going to collapse under his weight – Stiles sprawled out, making himself comfortable in the hammock. It was more comfortable than he’d first expected, and he soon found himself drifting off.</p><p>Just before he fell asleep, he felt the nudge of a cold nose against his bare arm.</p><p>“Not now, fox,” he mumbled quietly.</p><p>Peter whined, cocking his head to the side, and nudged Stiles again.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It has been some <i>time</i> since I last posted, hasn't it? I've had this chapter open in Word for the past several weeks, working on it in between work and life and everything else that's cropped up since then, but this cookie is just about baked and ready to share, so here we are, fresh out of the metaphorical oven :D </p><p>Thank you all <i>so much</i> for your patience with this story - I know the original posting schedule got blasted out of the water, and I appreciate all of y'all for sticking with me through this! </p><p><b>Quick Note!</b><br/>There have been a handful of new tags added for this chapter - there's a violent interaction later on in this chapter (which I don't think is <i>graphic</i> violence, but I'm happy to update the tags or archive warnings as needed, so definitely let me know)! </p><p>With that note about the updated tags (and my eternal gratitude that you're still here and (hopefully) enjoying this story), please enjoy the conclusion to this 5 times fic!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Peter had truly taken the idea of going wandering in the woods to heart. He’d first taken Stiles back to his place, loading the hammock into the back of the coupe and packing a backpack with snacks and water. Stiles, for his part, had plugged his phone in to charge and promptly set about trying to fulfill his intent to use all of Peter’s hot water.</p><p>It had been a much more pleasant way to spend the morning, followed by a surprisingly leisurely walk into the Preserve. Once they’d gotten far enough into the woods, and far enough away from any of the walking paths, Peter had quickly stripped, tucking his clothes into the backpack and smirking at Stiles’ bright crimson blush.</p><p>(“See something you like, pet?” he’d asked, standing up straighter, practically preening at the attention.</p><p>“Purely professional curiosity,” Stiles declared, well aware that Peter could hear his heartbeat stutter with the lie. The shift of fox fur against his spine and a quiet, chittering laugh let him know the fox was well aware of his lie as well. “The last time you went full furry, I didn’t get to see what happened during your shift.”</p><p>Peter laughed quietly. “Far be it from me to stifle your curiosity. Have a seat over there and try not to make any sudden moves.”</p><p>Minutes later, Stiles found himself face-to-face with a large brown wolf, watching him with neon blue eyes. “Yeah, yeah, very impressive,” he said, shoving the wolf’s face away from his. “You didn’t pack a leash, did you? Anyone sees you running around with me, and I could get a ticket.”</p><p>Peter let out a very canine huff and snapped lazily at the fabric of Stiles’ hoodie before trotting off into the woods with an indignant flick to his tail.</p><p>Stiles, all too amused, just shouldered the backpack and followed the wolf.)</p><p>They’d wandered through the woods, making sure to avoid the paths. Not that there was much of a chance they’d run into anyone else – the two of them had deliberately chosen a path that led them in almost the exact opposite direction of the walking paths in the Preserve.</p><p>Peter, despite his claims to the contrary, did seem to be enjoying the frolicking. He’d trail ahead of Stiles, hiding in the brush and pouncing out as Stiles passed, nipping playfully at the fabric off his clothes. He’d even managed to flush a covey of quail out of a bush and bounded after them.</p><p>He’d returned to Stiles several minutes later, muzzle wet and stained red, a few small feathers sticking out of his mouth.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, bird-breath, we’re all impressed,” Stiles said. “You breathe any entrails on me and I’m shoving you into the nearest puddle I find.”</p><p>Peter just huffed again as he headed back into the brush.</p><p>To the fox’s sleepy amusement, he circled back seconds later, sitting down next to Stiles and leaning against him. When Stiles just looked down at him, he let out a loud whine and patted at the dirt, looking around.</p><p>Stiles snorted, tugging lightly at Peter’s ear before heading into the brush – not quite the same direction as the quail, and heading vaguely in the direction of the tree stump he’d found before. The fox chittered quietly, approving of the movement.</p><p>Peter followed along, sticking closer to Stiles as they wandered further into the woods.</p><p>Stiles came to a stop not far from the stump, having found a pair of trees that looked about the right distance to set up the hammock. He looked over at Peter. “Am I setting this up myself, or are you planning on sticking to all fours?”</p><p>By way of answering, Peter just flopped into the ground, rolling in a patch of dirt. He looked up at Stiles, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and showed not even the smallest inclination of going back to bipedal to be helpful.</p><p>He snorted out a laugh at Peter’s antics and dropped the backpack onto the ground, unpacking the hammock and unrolling it. “If I break this, you don’t get to bitch at me about it when you’re back on two legs,” he said.</p><p>Peter just barked at him, stilling to watch Stiles as he set up the hammock.</p><p>Once it was set up – and after carefully clambering into it, hoping he’d done it right and the hammock wasn’t going to collapse under his weight – Stiles sprawled out, making himself comfortable in the hammock. It was more comfortable than he’d first expected, and he soon found himself drifting off.</p><p>Just before he fell asleep, he felt the nudge of a cold nose against his bare arm.</p><p>“Not now, fox,” he mumbled quietly.</p><p>Peter whined, cocking his head to the side, and nudged Stiles again.</p><p>Stiles watched him for a long few seconds, but only when Peter put a paw on the hammock. “Oh. Yeah, c’mon up, Clifford. It’s your hammock, dude. Just keep the slobbering to a minimum.”</p><p>He let out a quiet yip and climbed up into the hammock, crawling halfway on top of Stiles and making the hammock sway back and forth a bit. He made himself comfortable, resting his head on Stiles’ stomach and letting out a happy little grumble.</p><p>“The backpack’s in reach, right?” Stiles asked.</p><p>Peter nodded his head a bit before closing his eyes.</p><p>Stiles smiled slightly, digging his hands into the ruff of Peter’s fur. “So much better than a hospital bed,” he murmured, already halfway asleep. As he drifted all the way off, he felt the fox settle as well – the comforting weight of the fox tails blanketing his side opposite Peter.</p><p>…</p><p> He woke up with a violent startle when Peter lifted his head and let out a low, persistent snarl. One quick look around, seeing the dim light, and Stiles realized they’d slept most of the day away. It had to be close to sundown. Peter’s snarl ratcheted up another level, the bass of it resonating in Stiles’ bones. On his other side, where Peter wasn’t essentially plastered to his side, the fox tails bristled, and the fox began to rise from its slumber. Not revealing himself to Peter, but Stiles felt it becoming more aware, almost tangible under his skin.</p><p>A twig cracked.</p><p>Peter barked loudly, jumping out of the hammock, and stationed himself in front of it, putting him between Stiles and whoever – or whatever, this being Beacon Hills – was out there.</p><p>The mystery didn’t last too long.</p><p>Derek stormed out of the brush, eyes blazing red, halfway to his beta shift. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he snapped, glaring at Peter.</p><p>Stiles shifted upright, moving into a sitting position with his feet on the ground, but stayed behind Peter. “What crawled up your ass today?”</p><p>“Stay out of this, Stiles.”</p><p>He scowled, standing up. He rested a hand on Peter’s head, burying his fingers in the ruff of his fur. “Kind of in the middle of it, though,” Stiles said, doing his best to keep his tone neutral. “What with me being the one out here with Peter. What’s your specific problem with him today?”</p><p>Derek growled, turning a crimson glare onto Stiles.</p><p>Peter returned the growl with a snarl of his own, baring his teeth at Derek and lowering his head in an openly challenging move.</p><p>The fox shifted a bit – it was just about sundown, after all, and it had tended to be more of a nocturnal deity – and Stiles felt the tails wrapping around him.  <em>Such chaos. How very delightful</em>.</p><p>“Step away from Peter, Stiles,” Derek said, his voice gravelly as he lost further control of his shift. Fur rippled down his arms, claws glinting menacingly in the rapidly darkening area.</p><p>Stiles cocked his head to the side. “Nah, don’t think I will.” He took a step forward, standing next to Peter. “You might want to rein it in,” he said, gesturing vaguely at Derek. “There might not be a whole lot of people around, but the glowing red eyes and sabertooth fangs kind of give up your werewolf shtick right away.”</p><p>Derek snapped his teeth at Stiles. “Peter’s the one who’s been in his full shift all fucking day.”</p><p>“And he’s been with me,” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes. “We haven’t seen anyone since we got out here, and if we had, it’s just me out here with my pet.”</p><p>Peter huffed quietly, no doubt amused at his phrasing, and leaned against Stiles.</p><p>“He’s a bit big for a German shepherd, but it’s a decent enough excuse. You, on the other hand?”</p><p>Derek bared his teeth and growled openly at Stiles.</p><p>Peter tensed, almost like he was getting ready to lunge. Stiles tightened his grip in his fur – and he had a feeling the strength he used to hold Peter back was more than just his human strength.</p><p><em>The red-eyed wolf reeks of druid. Permit me control that I may protect my disciple and his wolf</em>.</p><p>Stiles paused – possibly for too long, because Derek furrowed his brow at Stiles, scowling at him in a way that belayed his anger. “Alright,” he said, and he felt an odd surge of power as the fox took control of Stiles’ body.  </p><p>His body straightened up, his hand falling from Peter’s fur, and he felt himself regarding Derek through the fox’s eyes.  </p><p>Peter leaned against him again, letting out a quiet rumble.</p><p>“Clearly there’s something on your mind to have you intruding on a peaceful moment, to which your presence was neither requested nor desired,” he said, the fox’s accent coming through startlingly clearly, taking both wolves by surprise. “Otherwise you would have no cause to interrupt the day of two Pack-adjacent creatures. So tell me, wolf, is there some threat lurking in the woods that you feel poses enough of a danger that we warrant warning prior to the bloodshed?”</p><p>Derek shook his head a bit, confusion clearly still reigning supreme.</p><p>“No? Then let us take a walk. You can air whatever petty grievances you feel the need to unburden yourself from, and then you can take your leave of us.”</p><p>“You’re not Stiles.”</p><p>Stiles’ body glanced down at himself, tugging the collar of his shirt out a bit so he could take a quick look at himself. “I appear to be Stiles,” the fox said, Stiles’ lips curling up into a bemused smirk. “Have the body. Have the mind. Doesn’t seem to be anything missing,” he said. He looked down at Peter. “You don’t mind if we leave your things behind for a few minutes, do you?”</p><p>Peter watched him for a long moment, cocking his head to the side and peering at Stiles, before shaking his head.</p><p>Stiles’ head nodded and he strode off into the woods, well aware of the pair of quiet footsteps behind him.</p><p>To Stiles’ utter lack of surprise, the fox took them to the tree stump and sat on it, reclining like he’d seated himself on a throne.</p><p>Derek came to a complete stop when he saw Stiles sitting there. “You shouldn’t have been able to find the Nemeton.”</p><p>“And yet here we are,” Stiles drawled, gesturing around them.</p><p>Peter, for his part, looked around. He approached the stump cautiously, sniffing at a few things, before finding the gap in the roots that Stiles had crawled out of when he’d fallen asleep in the woods. He let out discontented grumbles, pawing at the dirt. Something caught his attention – he paused, cocking his head to the side, and staring into the dark shadows that hid the roots under the tree. After a few seconds, he looked up to stare at Stiles, eyes flickering bright blue, and let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl.</p><p>Stiles froze at that, though the fox’s control ensured his body didn’t react beyond looking over at Peter. He knew. Maybe not the <em>exact</em> truth, but Peter was too smart not to have made at least a partial connection. And Stiles was not keen on having to deal with the man’s reaction when he had the chance to corner Stiles and get the truth out of him.</p><p>The fox hummed. <em>I doubt your mad wolf would inflict harm upon you for this, but should he try, I will protect you.</em></p><p>When their eyes met, Peter bared his teeth but took a step back.</p><p>The fox smirked with Stiles’ face – an expression that no doubt looked eerily wrong.</p><p>Peter’s ears tucked back, fur bristling. He made that same whine-growl again, and took another step back before crouching, like he was getting ready to pounce.</p><p>“Alright, what the <em>hell </em>is going on?” Derek snapped, raising his voice to pull the attention back to him.</p><p>Stiles’ gaze turned to the younger Hale as he scratched almost absently at the trunk, fingernails sharpening to claws as the fox let loose some of its control. “It would seem that the mad wolf has realized that things are not all they appear,” he said. “It is unfortunate that you do not share the same mental acuity.” He cocked his head to the side. “Though that does explain some of your more egregious failures, I suppose. But we are still awaiting our evening’s guest of honor, so it seems I am burdened with the misfortune of dealing with you until then.”</p><p>“This isn’t funny, Stiles.”</p><p>Stiles felt himself snort – an entirely bizarre experience. “I am rather inclined to agree with you on that. This is a matter that holds no humor whatsoever,” he said. “What other gripes do you have?”</p><p>That seemed to throw Derek for a loop. He scowled at Stiles. “You knew Scott was back in town. You should have told me as soon as you found out.”</p><p>Apparently not as big a loop as Stiles had first thought.</p><p>“McCall and his mother trespassed into my hospital room,” the fox snapped. “After I was transported to the hospital in an ambulance.” He narrowed his eyes at Derek, relishing the almost gobsmacked look on his face.  “My primary concern was to recover from the incident that had me admitted, not reaching out to share hot gossip with the bitchiest werewolf this side of the Mississippi,” he drawled, using Stiles’ voice. </p><p>Stiles snorted out a laugh at that, relaxing a bit as the fox continued to stay in control. He had no interest in staying like this forever, but for some reason, being essentially engulfed by a supernatural deity was somewhat comforting. At the very least, it was reassuring to be party to someone sassing Derek without Stiles being a convenient target to vent his frustration on.</p><p>“But you’ve figured it out yourself,” the fox continued. “So clearly you didn’t need me to play town crier so desperately.” He cocked Stiles’ head to the side, narrowing his eyes at Derek. “No, you’ve found yourself another source for information. I can smell his stain seeping off of you. He will answer for his crimes separately, though you certainly have your own misdeeds to answer for.”</p><p>“What the hell are you talking about?”</p><p>Stiles’ body stood, prowling over toward Derek with a grace that Stiles certainly didn’t possess. “I recognize you. The youngest son of the woman who endorsed my continued imprisonment,” he said. As he reached Derek, he pressed a palm flat against Derek’s chest and shoved him back.</p><p>He stumbled back a few steps, eyes widening in shock at the strength in that gesture.</p><p>Stiles, internally, was shocked as well.</p><p>“Your family has been complicit in my confinement for far too long,” he said. “The mad wolf has endured his share of betrayal. He spent years in his own imprisonment, forsaken by the pathetic remains of his Pack. His suffering has stayed my hand against him.” He cocked his head to the side, regarding Derek with a predatory glint. “But you? So quick to discard the bond of blood and leave the most vulnerable without any protection. And you return without remorse for that, your actions steeped in blind admiration for the alpha who endorsed my continued imprisonment, so desperate to bring a semblance of redemption to the once-great Hale Pack.” He smirked. “And yet failing so miserably with every attempt.”</p><p>Derek bared his teeth, letting out a growl that sounded almost confused. He took a step forward, eyes flaring red.</p><p>The fox let out a chittering laugh and stepped forward. He reached out with a speed that Stiles did <em>not</em> possess to grab a fistful of Derek’s hair and pull, forcing the man’s head back to bare his throat. “Tell me, wolf, what brings you to the stump of my prison under a new moon,” he purred.</p><p>“What the hell are you?” Derek gritted out.</p><p>The fox smiled with a mouthful of fangs. “I am a god, little wolf, that has been slighted for decades and grown weary of my cage,” he said. He tightened his grip on Derek’s hair, forcing the man to his knees. “And <em>you</em>. You are here to aid the renewal of the bars on my prison, are you not?”</p><p>“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”</p><p>The fox hummed.</p><p>Derek growled again.</p><p>The fox chittered quietly. “You are in <em>no </em>position to attempt to threaten me, wolf,” he said. He glanced up at the sky, nostrils flaring as he pulled in a deep breath, and let out another chittering laugh. “Yes, it is about time.” Without loosening his hold on Derek, Stiles turned to face the opposite side of the clearing. “Our guest has arrived.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Seconds later, Alan Deaton stepped into the clearing. He paused, taking in the sight before him. He frowned at Peter, who was still in his full shift, standing by the tree stump, but glossed over him quickly enough – the bulk of his focus honing in on Stiles and Derek.</p><p>Derek’s eyes flared crimson, but he didn’t so much as budge from his position. Not that the fox would permit that. “You said you had this under control, Deaton.”</p><p>Deaton hummed. “This shouldn’t be possible,” he said, approaching Stiles and Derek.  </p><p>Keeping one hand fisted in Derek’s hair, the fox wrapped Stiles’ other hand loosely around Derek’s throat, claws fully unsheathed and grazing along the werewolf’s skin. “You will find, druid, that gods do not fare well under prolonged imprisonment,” he said. “Surely you knew you would not be able to keep me locked in that stump forever.”</p><p>“It is necessary. Your very existence upsets the balance Beacon Hills needs to survive.”</p><p>The fox laughed, an otherworldly harshness to the sound. “Your balance is an illusion. Chaos is entropy.”</p><p>“Deaton –” Derek started, only to stop abruptly when the fox pressed the sharp edges of his claws to his skin.  </p><p>Stiles’ body looked down at Derek, still ferally amused. “You have chosen to grant your loyalty to the druid,” the fox chided. “Only the request of my disciple will stay my hand against you, but he has yet to make that request, and I can still make use of you.”</p><p>Stiles frowned to himself. He didn’t really want Derek dead. Or hurt. Really, as far as Derek was concerned, Stiles just wanted him to be less of an asshole.</p><p>“He’s a werewolf,” Deaton said, taking a small step forward. “He has no innate magic to be able to strengthen your cage.”</p><p>The fox let out another chittering laugh. “Do you think me a fool, druid? I have lived your lifetime a hundredfold, and you think I am ignorant to the power blood holds?” he asked. “And the blood of this one in particular? The only son of the woman who helped you to renew my prison at the dawn of the new millennium?”</p><p>Deaton frowned. “Do you intend to kill him for that? It was not his transgression that locked you away.”</p><p>“I intend to use the power in his blood to gain my freedom. I refuse to be locked away to rot any longer.”</p><p>“And how exactly do you intend to do that?” Deaton asked. “You’re possessing the body of a teenage boy. He’s got some potential for magic, but you’re more likely to kill him than succeed. That will only upset the balance further, requiring stronger constraints against you.”</p><p>The fox smirked. “Such slavish devotion to your balance.” He moved Stiles’ hand away from Derek’s throat and held it out in a farce of an invitation. “Approach me, then, and plead for the release of this teenage boy and the wolf,” he said, punctuating the sentence with a tug at Derek’s hair.</p><p>Deaton offered a wan smile and took another step forward. “I could do that,” he said. “But I won’t be making that argument alone,” he said. He turned a bit, gesturing over his shoulder.</p><p>A shot rang out.</p><p>Pain bloomed in Stiles’ shoulder. It was … odd. He could see the wound, and he was aware that being shot was a painful experience, but he felt none of that pain. His body stumbled back, the shock of the shot momentarily distracting both the fox and Stiles from the appearance of Chris Argent. The man prowled into the clearing, gun raised unwaveringly at Stiles, and came to a stop next to Deaton.</p><p>Peter snarled, crouching down – clearly getting ready to lunge after Chris.</p><p>The fox turned a sharp, silver-eyed stare onto him, letting out a low, hissing growl.</p><p>That, paired with an unblinking stare, stayed Peter from attacking. He growled in response, hackles fully raised, but stayed put.</p><p>“I do find it helps to come prepared,” Deaton commented almost amiably.</p><p>The fox let out a pained laugh, pressing a hand to Stiles’ shoulder. “The son of the hunter whose betrayal awoke me from my slumber,” he said. “The brother of the hunter who violated the wolf you sought to use to renew my chains?” he asked, straightening up and gesturing at Derek with the hand not pressed to his wound. “How telling of your loyalties. Does this balance of yours truly favor the hunters over the wolves?” he asked. “Favoring the mortal over the magic?”</p><p>Peter approached Stiles slowly, noticeably putting himself between Stiles and Chris – and not turning his back on Chris, either. He nosed at Stiles’ hand, whining quietly and licking at the blood streaming down Stiles’ arm.</p><p>“Calm yourself, wolf,” the fox said quietly. “I have not allowed the pain to reach your pet,” he said, setting his hand on Peter’s head. He retracted his claws a bit, just enough that they weren’t in danger of piercing Peter’s skin. He looked up, silver-white eyes focused on Deaton. “Have you grown so foolish as to employ the services of a mercenary with no thought to the consequences?” he asked, walking toward the tree stump.</p><p>“I am not the one who forced my way into the body of an untrained teenager.”</p><p>The fox just smirked, taking a seat on the stump.</p><p>Chris frowned – though didn’t lower his gun at all. “You should not be conscious. That bullet should have knocked you on your ass,” he said.</p><p>The fox laughed quietly. He sent a silent rush of reassurance to Stiles, a promise that he would experience no pain at the fox’s hands. And then, he dug his fingers into the wound, grasping the bullet in his claws and pulling it out of his shoulder. “Mistletoe would be an effective poison if I hailed from one of the cultures that put such faith in its power,” he said. “And as I am not a werewolf, the wolfsbane is little more than an irritant. For such a vaunted family, you have chosen poorly for your attempt to subdue me.” He bared fanged teeth in a very loose imitation of a smile. “Instead, you have granted me a rather fortunate boon.”</p><p>Chris’ frown only darkened.</p><p>“Not familiar with the power of blood from a willing disciple?” the fox asked, cocking his head to the side.</p><p>Deaton’s eyes widened slightly and he took a step forward, raising his hand. “No –”</p><p>“Watch, then, and be honored as I bestow the privilege of this knowledge upon you.” The fox pressed a hand to the gunshot wound, cupping Stiles’ palm to collect a handful of blood, and leaned back. He poured the blood from his hand onto the center of the stump. “Blood has power, hunter, and can be used for many rituals,” he said, repeating the movement three times. “And when that blood comes from a disciple who has willingly accepted the blessing of a god? That power increases exponentially. The only thing more powerful would be an offering of blood willingly given, though your mercenary circumvented that.”</p><p>“That shouldn’t be possible,” Deaton said quietly.</p><p>The fox hummed. He pressed Stiles’ left hand flat against the tree stump, in the middle of the small puddle of blood.</p><p>A rumble echoed throughout the clearing, not coming from any of the wolves. Stiles looked around the clearing, curious and in no small part concerned about what was about to happen. The fox, though, seemed more expectant than anything, keeping its focus on the stump while Stiles looked around.</p><p>“What’s happening?” Chris snapped.</p><p>The fox smirked over at him, making an odd gesture with his non-bloody hand. The exposed roots of the tree stump started shifting, seeming to become almost sentient, and the rumbling grew louder. “You are bearing witness, mortal, to the consequences of the hubris of the druid,” he said. “An attempt to seal away a god proving itself a futile effort.” He stood, beckoning Deaton closer. “Would you like to suffer your consequence willingly, or shall we do it by force?”</p><p>“We?” Deaton asked, quirking an eyebrow and looking surprisingly passive about what was playing out in front of him.</p><p>“We,” the fox purred. Another gesture, and one of the stump’s roots rose from the ground, reaching up to touch Stiles’ bloody hand. “This tree was sacred long before it was desecrated, forced into the bastardized prison of a god.” He looked over at Derek, who was staring at Stiles’ body with wide, terrified eyes. “It would serve you well, wolf, to pay proper homage to this tree once I have taken my freedom with me. Blood sacrifices have power, and a Tree of Life is an invaluable ally.”</p><p>Derek frowned, gaze darting to the tree stump before back to Stiles’ body. “A Tree of Life?” he asked faintly.</p><p>The fox nodded, absently caressing the root that had wrapped itself loosely around Stiles’ wrist. “This site is far more sacred than just the Nemeton for a Druid and his rituals. My disciple has very little faith in your capability as an Alpha, and if you would like to redeem yourself and prove yourself marginally competent, you must have the knowledge of what resides in your territory.”</p><p>Deaton cleared his throat. “I am teaching him.”</p><p>“You?” the fox asked, attention immediately back on the Druid. “The self-proclaimed protector of the Hale Pack who was either incapable or unwilling to lay down even the most basic of fireproofing wards?” He cocked his head to the side, a mocking smile on his face. “In California?” he asked, adopting Stiles’ voice. “When wildfires have been known to happen, even <em>without</em> the contribution of a zealot hunter with accelerants and a box of matches?” He tutted. “That shows an abysmal lack of forethought on your part. But you have yet to answer me. Will you accept your fate willingly, or not?”</p><p>Deaton frowned slightly.</p><p>Before he could answer, two roots shot up from the ground, wrapping around Deaton’s ankles.</p><p>The fox smirked. “It seems inaction has proven your downfall yet again.”</p><p>Before he could say anything, the tree made its move. Moving much faster than expected, the roots dragged Deaton to the stump, where more roots came to bind him to the stump, wrapping around his wrists, arms, waist, and throat, constricting just tightly enough to cut off his air supply without killing him. His muffled scream had Peter flinching back from the tree, baring his teeth in a silent snarl.</p><p>Chris took a step forward, gun still trained on Stiles. “Stop this,” he said sternly. “Let him go.”</p><p>A chittering laugh escaped the fox, and he gestured widely at the tree stump. “This druid has reaped far worse than a punishment from me, but this is not my doing. The tree has its own injustices to account for,” he said.</p><p>Chris took another step forward. “You call yourself a god? Call off the tree.”</p><p>The fox let out a bark of laughter. “No.”</p><p>Chris bared his teeth, pulling the trigger.</p><p>This time, Stiles felt the impact of the shot as it hit him in the chest. He stumbled back, letting out a pained grunt as he collapsed onto the ground.</p><p>Peter launched himself at Chris, fangs bared with lethal intent.</p><p>He didn’t make it.</p><p>Chris aimed. Shot.</p><p>Peter fell back, collapsing next to Stiles.</p><p>“Argents. Torturing children and attempting to kill Hales runs in your bloodline like nothing else, doesn’t it?” the fox asked. It surged back into control, taking the pain from Stiles and slowly, carefully getting back onto his feet. As he moved, he placed a hand on Peter’s head, quickly checking the wolf.</p><p>He was still alive, though shot in the shoulder – almost the same wound placement as Chris’ first shot into Stiles. Peter whined at the contact, pressing his head into Stiles’ hand.</p><p>“You have done well, wolf,” the fox said quietly. “I will see to it that your pain is not prolonged.” He looked over at Derek. “Prove to me that you are not a completely incompetent Alpha and protect your injured Packmate. Extract the bullet before the wolfsbane turns his wound fatal.”</p><p>That spurred Derek into action. He got to his feet, moving over to Peter, but keeping his focus split between Stiles and Chris. Once he’d knelt next to Peter, getting an up-close look at the wound, he shot Chris a dirty look before unsheathing his claws and starting to dig the bullet out.</p><p>Peter whimpered at the first bit of contact, flinching away from Derek. A quiet purr from the fox had him relaxing just enough to hold still for Derek to get the bullet out.</p><p>The fox raised Stiles’ hand, and for a split second, the shadows around them all seemed to get darker.</p><p> A dull metallic crack sounded, and Chris let out an angry hiss as his gun fell apart, the clip falling to the ground and the muzzle falling off where it’d cracked in half.</p><p>“One shot proved advantageous. The second was a nuisance. And to then shoot the wolf who sought to protect my disciple,” he mused. “The very same wolf who survived your family’s attempt to exterminate the Hale Pack, and recovered to avenge his Pack, going so far as to kill the selfsame woman who manipulated an underage child and used their naivety to spark the fire.” The fox smirked, baring silver fangs at Chris as he approached the man. “Allying yourself to the druid, though? That is <em>entirely</em> inexcusable.”</p><p> Chris opened his mouth, an argument no doubt at the ready.</p><p>“No,” the fox said quietly, his statement echoed by the tree letting out another rumble.</p><p>All attention turned to the stump.</p><p>The roots constricted further; this time tight enough to cause pain.</p><p>Deaton let out a muffled grunt that quickly turned into a gurgle. The roots tightened again. Several of Deaton’s bones broke, and the man let out a weak scream before the roots … consumed him. His body was pulled into the wood, <em>through </em>the wood. The sound of muffled bones breaking and roots constricting more and more tightly around Deaton’s body held everyone’s attention.</p><p>It took only seconds, but soon there was nothing left of the man but a red stain on the stump of the tree, his body replaced with a small, fragile sapling, three pale green oak leaves sprouting from its twig-like stem.</p><p>The fox smiled, watching almost placidly as the roots returned to the ground, returning to dormancy.</p><p>Once the roots had fully receded and the tree was once again calm, the fox positioned Stiles’ body to fully face Derek and Peter. He knelt down, putting a hand on Peter’s head.</p><p>The wolf flinched again, letting out a quiet whimper.</p><p>Derek turned a surprisingly vicious glare onto Stiles’ body. “I know you’re not Stiles.” </p><p>The fox cocked Stiles’ head to the side, a slight smirk on his face. “You think yourself so well acquainted with the young Stilinski to be so confident with that accusation?”</p><p>He bared his teeth, eyes flaring Alpha-red.</p><p>The fox laughed. “He will be restored in due time.” He paused, eyes bleeding silver. “Though I do owe him my protection, and there remains a threat among us yet.”</p><p>Derek growled lowly.</p><p>“Not you, wolf.”</p><p>A gun clicked, indicating its safety was off. A hard press of cold steel against the back of Stiles’ head.</p><p>“Hunters do so rarely carry only one weapon, don’t they?”</p><p>Derek wasn’t the one to respond.</p><p>No, instead, it was a new voice that rang out.</p><p>“What the hell is going on here?”  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...<br/>...<br/>...<br/>nah, I'm not going to leave y'all hanging like that for too long - next bit is coming soon, and then we get to find out who the newcomer is :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. An Unexpected Conclusion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Light flooded the clearing as a police-grade flashlight clicked on.</p>
<p>Stiles clenched his eyes shut – both himself and the fox taken aback by the sudden light. Judging by the subtle flinches from both Hales, they’d been equally startled. Chris, unfortunately, didn’t seem to have been affected at all – his gun didn’t so much as twitch against the back of Stiles’ head.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Light flooded the clearing as a police-grade flashlight clicked on.</p>
<p>Stiles clenched his eyes shut – both himself and the fox taken aback by the sudden light. Judging by the subtle flinches from both Hales, they’d been equally startled. Chris, unfortunately, didn’t seem to have been affected at all – his gun didn’t so much as twitch against the back of Stiles’ head.</p>
<p>“Drop the gun,” the Sheriff snapped as he strode into the clearing, a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. </p>
<p>“I can’t do that,” Chris said, sounding completely unaffected.</p>
<p>“Bullshit you can’t,” he said.  </p>
<p>Chris shifted slightly behind Stiles, though still without moving his gun at all. “This isn’t what it looks like, Noah.”</p>
<p>“We’re not on friendly terms, Argent. It’s Sheriff Stilinski to you. And it looks like you’re holding a gun to my son’s head,” he said. “Drop it and back away from my kid.”</p>
<p>“Sheriff –”</p>
<p>“Last chance, Argent. Drop the gun before I drop you.”</p>
<p>“I can’t do either of those things,” Chris said. He took a few steps, positioning himself behind Stiles.</p>
<p>“Coward,” the fox hissed, only to have Stiles’ body flinch when the gun pressed more harshly against his head.</p>
<p>“The hell you can’t,” Noah said, still approaching. He glanced around, taking inventory of the situation in front of him without pulling his focus away from Chris. “You’re expecting me to, what, stand by and watch as you execute my son?”</p>
<p>Chris shook his head. “I’m not going to kill Stiles. I’m going to kill the thing <em>inside</em> him.”</p>
<p>Stiles snorted, unable to stop himself – and his amusement was echoed by the fox.</p>
<p>The fox stared at Chris out of the corner of his eyes, careful not to move Stiles’ head. “You do realize that this is not an episode of Monsters Inside Me, right?” he asked, using Stiles’ voice. “And hiding behind the teenager you’re ready to execute? Way to display those elite Argent hunting skills, man. Super impressed.”</p>
<p>“Shut the hell up, Stiles,” Derek snapped quietly, his voice little more than a harsh whisper. “He’s got a gun to your head, for fuck’s sake.”</p>
<p>The fox snorted, smirking at Derek.</p>
<p>Stiles, for his part, set aside his curiosity at Derek’s unexpected bout of concern in favor of inspecting his dad. He looked sober, at the very least, though there was no way to miss the dark circles under his eyes or the deep-set wrinkles in his uniform that made it clear those clothes had been slept in at least once. If he had the senses of a wolf, he’d probably be able to smell the mix of burnt coffee and whiskey that no doubt lingered on him.</p>
<p> “You know your son, don’t you?” Chris asked suddenly. “Come look at him. <em>Really</em> look at him, up close. If you can tell me that it’s Stiles, and <em>only</em> Stiles, I’ll step back and let you handle this.”</p>
<p>The Sheriff scowled but approached, lowering his gun ever so slightly as he did. </p>
<p>Stiles found himself frowning, confused – and he felt the same spark of confusion from the fox as it held his body still, watching as Stiles’ father approached.</p>
<p>Noah walked up to them, taking a cursory glance at Stiles, before taking a step around him. In an entirely unexpected move, he kicked Chris in the knees. The force behind it sent Chris sprawling to the ground, landing hard on his back – though not dropping his weapon. “It looks like I told you to drop the gun, Argent,” he said, moving forward and stepping on Chris’ wrist, pinning it and Chris’ gun to the ground. </p>
<p>“This is an abuse of power, Sheriff,” he gritted out, without making a move to try and get up.</p>
<p>Noah cocked his head to the side, frowning slightly. “No. This is me ensuring that an armed subject is not in the position to execute an unarmed teenager without resorting to lethal force right away,” he said. He lifted his gun, aiming at Chris’ face. The slight trembling of his hand belied the look of absolute fury on his face. “An abuse of power would be me shooting you between the eyes and leaving your body in the woods for whatever animal happens across your corpse, and then stonewalling the inevitable missing person report,” he said. “You’re going to hold very still now, yes?”</p>
<p>Chris grunted out an affirmative.</p>
<p>Temporarily satisfied, Noah nodded once. “Boys?” he asked. “Mind telling me what’s going on here?”</p>
<p>“Argent shot Stiles,” Derek said.</p>
<p>“He shot Peter too.”</p>
<p>“Peter?” Noah asked.</p>
<p>“The wolf,” the fox said, once again using Stiles’ voice. “He’s got a tag in his ear.” He leaned forward, brushing a hand over Peter’s ear. With a quick flash of silver eyes, he gathered a flash of shadow, piercing Peter’s ear and manifesting a green tag. “USFWS 64696273 Peter,” he said, watching as the code wrote itself onto the tag.</p>
<p>“That’s a federal tag, Argent,” Noah said. “So now, I not only have you for shooting your gun in a federal preserve and violations of state laws on poaching, I’ve feasibly got you for a violation of the Endangered Species Act and whatever federal charges come with shooting an animal tagged by US Fish and Wildlife,” he said. “And that’s before we get to the part where holding a gun to my son counts as assault with a deadly weapon. You’ve been busy tonight.”</p>
<p>“And you were, what, just in the area?” Chris asked.</p>
<p>Noah shook his head. “I was following up on something else when I heard gunshots. An arms broker like yourself should know how loud guns are. Tends to attract attention.” He paused. “Wait a minute, Hale, did you just say he shot my son?”</p>
<p>Derek nodded. “Twice.”</p>
<p>Keeping the gun aimed at Chris, Noah turned, swinging the flashlight onto Stiles. His face went bloodless when he saw the blood soaking through Stiles’ hoodie, and the two bullet holes – one in his left shoulder and the other square in the center of his chest. “Stiles?” he asked, voice faint. “You shouldn’t be alive with those wounds.”</p>
<p>The fox glanced down at Stiles’ body, frowning at the wounds. He plucked almost absent-mindedly at the hoodie. “Yes, well, the hunter was right in that your son is not alone in his body,” he said, accent once again bleeding through. “Otherwise he well would be.”</p>
<p>As he spoke, roots emerged from the ground, rapidly wrapping around Chris’ waist and neck. Another root wrapped around his wrist below the Sheriff’s boot, tightening enough that Chris was finally forced to let go of his gun.</p>
<p>Noah’s eyes widened. He lowered his own gun and made to stumble backward.</p>
<p>Only to be enveloped by a flash of shadows from his waist to his feet, holding him in place.</p>
<p>“Fear not,” the fox said, watching Noah with an eerily calm look on his face. “He feels no pain, and I will mend him before I restore him. For now, though, I must request silence from you.” As he spoke, the tendril of a shadow wrapped itself around Noah’s mouth, an effective gag that muffled the string of curses that he let out.</p>
<p>“What did you do?” Derek asked.</p>
<p>The fox turned Stiles’ body to face the werewolf, cocking his head to the side at the look on his face. Stiles found himself intrigued as well – he couldn’t recall seeing Derek look just curious, without any of the underlying hostility that he seemed to wear like a shroud around Stiles. “Does it truly matter to you? To you, who abandoned a member of your own Pack, leaving him wounded and unprotected? Who refused to accept help of a once-willing ally?”</p>
<p>Derek’s silence wasn’t particularly impressive to either the fox or Stiles.</p>
<p>“When I have restored the mortal, and he has had adequate time to recover from playing host to a god, he will possess great knowledge that very few mortals have ever possessed,” the fox said, piquing Stiles’ curiosity. “An intelligent Alpha would recognize the strength of that potential alliance and would not squander the chance to reach out, attempt to atone for the misdeeds committed against him. My disciple is a young spark who has shared blood with a Tree of Life. He is the sort of treasure that has sparked wars in the past.”</p>
<p>Derek scowled slightly but still didn’t say anything.</p>
<p>“Step back,” he said, making a slight shooing gesture at Derek. “Do not make me enlist the shadows to move you.”</p>
<p>That had him taking several steps back, even as his eyes flashed red at the challenge.</p>
<p>The fox crouched, taking Peter’s head in Stiles’ hands. He ran a hand over the wolf’s muzzle before tweaking at the manifested ear tag.</p>
<p>Peter let out a quiet whimper, meeting the fox’s silver eyes with his own flaring a supernatural blue.</p>
<p>“Fear not. I will restore him without injury,” he said. “But you have received your own injury, and so earned in the pursuit of a hunter who injured my disciple. I will not see your suffering prolonged for such loyalty.” He leaned forward, pressing a hand flat on top of Peter’s wound. “This will hurt, but only for a moment.”</p>
<p>Peter whined quietly again but didn’t move.</p>
<p>As the fox performed its magic, Stiles felt a rush of something powerful through his body. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but there was something of a burn to it. In a strange way, it felt the way ginger tasted. And then, just as suddenly as the rush had started, it vanished – leaving Stiles to feel almost empty, in a strange way.</p>
<p>The fox picked up on that and chittered at him, openly amused. He lifted Stiles’ hand off of Peter’s shoulder, the wound gone completely, his brown fur showing no sign of ever having been so much as mussed. “Remain here, and remain still,” he said, once again tweaking the ear tag. “The process of restoring my disciple may look violent, but you have my word that it will instill no further harm upon him.”</p>
<p>Peter nodded. He shifted a bit, just enough to rest his head on his paws, and kept his eyes on Stiles.</p>
<p>Derek stared at Stiles, baring his teeth when the fox smirked at him.</p>
<p>“You have already heard me instruct the others to remain still and silent. Are you able to comprehend that you must follow those instructions as well?” the fox asked.</p>
<p>He scowled again.</p>
<p>The fox snorted, stepping past the two Hales to approach the tree stump. “If you move or make a noise to distract me during this ritual, it will result in the death of my disciple. After which I will hunt you down and take more than just a single pound of flesh from you,” he said. He glanced over Stiles’ shoulder at Derek. “The chaos that your death will bring, demolishing the pathetic remains of what little Pack you’ve built and sending a clarion call to all that this vibrant territory no longer houses an Alpha?” The fox purred. “Oh, it would be positively <em>delicious </em>after so many years of captivity, my intrinsic nature starving.”</p>
<p>Peter let out a low, warning growl, hackles rising and body tensing.</p>
<p>“Fear not,” the fox said. “I find my disciple far more intriguing alive,” he said. “And I have given him my word that he will be restored as he was once I am free.”</p>
<p>Peter settled slightly but didn’t so much as blink away from Stiles.</p>
<p>Derek, in an entirely unexpected – and surprisingly petulant – move, dropped down onto the ground, sitting heavily on the dirt with a glare at Stiles. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Not moving.”</p>
<p>The fox just offered him a saccharine smile, insincerity bleeding through. “You have my gratitude for such magnanimity.”</p>
<p>That pulled a snort from Peter, as he settled further.</p>
<p>The fox continued to approach the tree, walking around it until he was standing in front of the hollow of the roots. He paused, closing Stiles’ eyes and pulling in a deep breath. He stood there for a long moment, breathing in the forest air.</p>
<p>Stiles tried to figure out what was going on – beyond the pleasant noise and the smell of summer woods, he could almost feel an undercurrent of that ginger-magic, but nothing particularly impressive.</p>
<p>
  <em>I am centering myself for this ritual, disciple. Communing with the tree and offering my apologies. My imprisonment was against my will, but it still dealt a great deal of harm to this Tree of Life, and I owe it much more than I can offer at the moment. I will have to return, when I can provide stronger penance.</em>
</p>
<p>Stiles nodded to himself. That made sense, he supposed.</p>
<p>The fox closed his eyes for another long moment. When he opened his eyes again, he rolled Stiles’ neck and shook his arms out a bit. <em>It is time to begin the ritual. We must separate to complete it, but when we do, I will no longer be able to block your pain. You will feel the full impact of your wounds. </em></p>
<p>Stiles hesitated at that, looking down at his chest. The fox lifted a hand, pressing it flat to the wound on Stiles’ chest.</p>
<p>
  <em>It will not take long, and I give you my word that I will not leave you in pain any longer than necessary. The final bonds of my prison can only be broken when I am in my true form, else we will both be trapped within my cage. </em>
</p>
<p> “Yeah, let’s not get stuck together. You’re cool and all, but I won’t be able to make it through any sort of imprisonment. In-school suspension is bad enough,” Stiles said, his voice coming out hoarse.</p>
<p>The fox let out a chittering laugh. He took Stiles’ body to his knees, putting his hands in the dirt. <em>Take a deep breath, disciple. </em></p>
<p>Stiles did as told, closing his eyes.</p>
<p>The fox gave him a calming purr. <em>You have my apologies for the pain I am about to allow you to feel. </em></p>
<p>He nodded. “Let’s do this.”</p>
<p>His answer came with the sensation of claws digging into the back of his neck. A chill ran down his spine at the thought he’d be having another seizure.</p>
<p>Instead, though, he gagged, feeling the ginger-magic burning through his veins. He gagged again, leaning forward and pressing his head to the ground, the cool dirt a pleasant balm to the burning. He closed his eyes, fingers digging into the dirt.</p>
<p>A wave of pain crashed into him – his chest and shoulder feeling as though on fire.</p>
<p>He gasped at the sudden burning sensation, his vision going black at the pain.</p>
<p>He tried to pull in a breath, but it hurt too much. His hoodie was wet with blood and he could still feel it seeping out of him. Panic rose in his chest, and he tried to take another breath – only for it too to stutter and catch in the back of his throat.</p>
<p>A wet sob escaped him, and he dug his fingers in the dirt, grasping for something solid to hold onto.</p>
<p>The pain didn’t lessen, and he still couldn’t take a clear breath. Panic mounting rapidly, he dug frantically through the dirt, desperate for <em>something </em>to ease the pain, to soothe his panic.</p>
<p>He dug. And dug. And dug. And –</p>
<p>Something solid. And furred.</p>
<p>He latched onto whatever it was, gripping so tightly his knuckles went white.</p>
<p>A quiet chittering and a cold nose pressed to his forehead met him in response. At the contact, he felt some of the pain ease.</p>
<p>“Keep your hands on me, and I will carry your pain,” the fox said gently. It took a step forward, moving carefully so as not to dislodge Stiles’ hands. “Once I emerge from the roots, move your hands to my ruff of my fur and hold tight.”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded, his panic receding with the pain, and carefully, awkwardly shuffled backward as the fox made its way forward, crawling out from under the tree.  </p>
<p>As soon as the fox was free, it took a seat, waiting patiently as Stiles moved his hands up, never breaking contact with the fox, and finally burying his fingers into the rich fur at the fox’s neck. “My freedom is won, disciple.”</p>
<p>The shadows around them flashed for a moment, things seeming to get darker before settling into a dim light, most of it shining from the Sheriff’s flashlight.</p>
<p>Stiles blinked at the sudden change, smiling a bit when he caught a glimpse of the fox’s seven tails – each of them a dark red that looked almost bloodstained in the light. He leaned forward, pressing his face to the fox’s neck and closing his eyes. The last of his pain finally faded, and he felt the much less panic-inducing burn of ginger at the back of his throat.</p>
<p>“Do not remove your hands from me,” the fox said, his voice rumbling through Stiles’ bones. “You have more than earned the gift of my benevolence, and I will see you brought whole again.”</p>
<p>He hummed in response.</p>
<p>The fox looked around the clearing, baring its teeth in a wicked grin at the looks he saw.</p>
<p>Derek was staring, openly shocked at the sight. The Alpha red had faded from his eyes and his fangs and claws retracted, leaving him, for all intents and purposes, looking like a gobsmacked human.</p>
<p>The Sheriff, still bound by shadows, and the hunter, still bound by the roots of the Tree of Life, wore twin looks of shocked horror. The blood had long since run from their faces, leaving them pale and drawn. The Sheriff hadn’t tried to escape his bonds, but several of Chris’ fingers were bent out of shape – apparently while the fox was clawing its way free, Chris had attempted to go for his gun again. Only to learn that the Tree had no mercy in mind.</p>
<p>Peter, on the other hand, looked the least surprised. Instead, his eyes still flared blue and hackles were still raised, even as he remained in place.</p>
<p>The fox chortled. Such an open display of jealousy when the others were barely able to comprehend the situation in front of them was certainly unexpected. It would certainly be interesting to see whether his disciple chose the mad wolf for a consort – no doubt the fox would return, if only to watch that relationship evolve. </p>
<p>The fox pulled the last of the pain from Stiles, and another jolt of magic to heal the wounds. The scars would remain – wounds from which blood had been harvested as tribute to a Tree of Life must remain marked. To do otherwise would be sacrilege against the Tree.</p>
<p>As the last of its magic faded, it shifted, rubbing its face over Stiles’ in a blatant scent-marking that would no doubt further provoke Peter’s ire.</p>
<p>Stiles seemed to pick up on exactly what the fox was doing, and why. “You being a god isn’t going to stop Peter from holding a grudge, man,” he said, though he found himself grinning as he sat back a bit.</p>
<p>“The mad wolf may hold his grudge, but that will not stop me from providing you a blessing, as my disciple. You have aided me in my freedom at great risk to yourself and I am grateful for your help.” It cocked its head to the side. “Offer me your palms.”</p>
<p>Stiles frowned, confused, but did as told. He took his hands out of the fox’s fur and held them out, palms up, in front of him.</p>
<p>The fox leaned down, resting its head in Stiles’ palms, watching him with its silver-white eyes. A jolt of that same ginger-magic settled on Stiles’ palms.</p>
<p>He flinched, but did his best to keep his hands still until the fox lifted its head.</p>
<p>Stiles looked down at his hands. It didn’t look like anything had changed, but there was still that sensation of the fox’s magic under his skin. “What’d you do?”</p>
<p>“I have marked you as my disciple.” Its eyes glinted with amusement as Stiles continued to inspect his arms. “You will not be able to see the mark with mortal eyes. Nor any of your wolves. Should you happen across any other immortals like myself, they will see my mark. It will offer you protection should your life be in danger from another of my kind.”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded, wiggling his fingers as the magic dissipated. “So no tail, then?”</p>
<p>The fox laughed quietly, standing up. “You are young yet, disciple,” it said. “You have played host to a god and been party to an offering to a Tree of Life. To have survived one is an ordeal, but surviving both even more so and will require recovery. Receiving a tail from a god is a taxing experience, and I am loathe to put you at further risk this night.” It took a step forward, once again pressing its nose to his forehead. “We must both recover, mortal, but I will return. When I do, I look forward to seeing what you have accomplished. I may bequeath a tail to you upon that return,” it said. “Be well, disciple.”</p>
<p>“You too,” Stiles said almost absently.</p>
<p>With another fanged grin, the fox stepped back from Stiles. The shadows gathered around it, and in the span of one heartbeat to the next, disappeared.</p>
<p>Stiles stared at the space where the fox had stood.</p>
<p>Seconds later, he found himself with a face full of fur as Peter practically tackled him.</p>
<p>“I’m fine, dude,” he said, voice muffled into Peter’s fur. “Totally fine, I promise.”</p>
<p>Derek snorted, rolling his eyes, but didn’t say anything.</p>
<p>A heavy sigh escaped the Sheriff as he looked around himself, no doubt looking for the shadows that had previously bound him in place. “Somebody please tell me that I’m still drunk and this was all some really fucked up hallucination.”</p>
<p>Chris let out a humorless bark of laughter as he sat up. The roots had receded back underground with the disappearance of the fox, letting him move around. He scowled at his hand, the fingers still broken and bent out of place. “Afraid not, Sheriff.” He turned a dark glare onto Stiles. “Your kid really did release a Japanese chaos fox back into the world.”</p>
<p>Stiles opened his mouth, an argument ready, but he was interrupted by twin growls from both Hales.</p>
<p>“You were the one who shot the kid twice, so maybe you’re not the one to be laying the blame anywhere else,” Derek snapped. “Even if Stiles was an idiot, he –”</p>
<p>“Shove it, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, slowly getting to his feet. He kept his hands on Peter, digging his fingers into his fur, and looked at his father. “Why’d you come out to the woods anyway? I thought you had the day off?”</p>
<p>Noah hesitated for a moment, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Parrish came by around noon and found me asleep in the kitchen. He found out you’d been taken to the hospital in an ambulance and wanted to see how you were doing. He came over to see you, but he found me passed out at the table. Saw my phone with the missed calls and your note.” He sighed, retrieving his flashlight. “He read me the riot act. Told me to shape up and come find you to make sure you were in better shape than just ‘alive’. I tracked your Jeep out to Beacon Valley, talked to someone named Moira, and then I went to the hospital. One of the nurses tore into me about not answering her repeated calls or checking in on you while you were admitted. She refused to tell me anything more than you’d checked out first thing in the morning and that you were with someone you seemed to trust.”</p>
<p>“Then what brought you to the woods?” Chris asked, sounding curious himself.</p>
<p>“Phone trace brought me close. The sound of gunshots brough me the rest of the way,” Noah said.</p>
<p>Stiles patted at his pockets, frowning when he didn’t feel his phone.</p>
<p>“It’s out by Peter’s hammock, in the backpack,” Derek said when he noticed what Stiles was doing. “I saw it on my way here.” He scowled. “How the hell are you still alive, though? That should have killed you,” he said, nodding toward the tree.</p>
<p>Stiles shrugged, biting back a yawn. “Dunno. Don’t really feel like looking too closely at it right now, either. I’m alive, and the chaos god that was imprisoned under the tree is gone, and it promised to take some of the chaos around here with it, so hopefully things will stay calm for a little while, at least.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Derek said slowly.</p>
<p>“I’m going to go pack up the hammock and then go –”</p>
<p> “You’re coming back home with me,” Noah said, his tone brooking no argument. “It sounds like we’re overdue for a serious conversation. Go pack up and come right back here. I’ll wait.”</p>
<p>Stiles eyed his father warily, not entirely sure what that would mean. “Right,” he said. “C’mon, Peter.”</p>
<p>The two of them quickly made their way out of the clearing and back to the spot they’d spent most of the day. Stiles pulled the hammock down and packed it away while Peter shifted back and got dressed again.</p>
<p>It was an almost comfortable silence between the two of them, if Stiles didn’t think about his father.</p>
<p>A pair of arms wrapped around his waist as Peter came up to him, resting his chin on Stiles’ shoulder. “I am incredibly glad you survived, pet,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Playing host to a god of chaos tends to be a lethal affair.”</p>
<p>Stiles laughed quietly, tweaking at the tag still affixed to Peter's ear before burrowing into his embrace. “Lucky thing the fox liked me.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Peter said dryly. “Lucky that.”</p>
<p>“It liked you, too. Called you the mad wolf and told me you’d make a decent consort, if I picked you.”</p>
<p>Peter chuckled at that, tightening his hold on Stiles. “Do you want me to stay with you for your conversation with your father?”</p>
<p>Stiles nodded. “As long as you know he’s going to ask you a bunch of questions, too.”</p>
<p>“Questions I can handle, pet. As long as you’re safe.”</p>
<p>That had Stiles frowning slightly. He leaned back a bit and looked at Peter, meeting concerned blue eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be safe?”</p>
<p>“I saw your father passed out at your kitchen table this morning. More stable men have reacted badly to learning about any part of the supernatural, and your father had a rather abrupt introduction back there,” he said.</p>
<p>“Oh. Yeah. Could you stick around for that, then?” He wasn’t exactly <em>afraid</em> of his father, or that he’d lash out against Stiles, but the two of them had grown apart quite a bit - an his dad's behavior had tended to lean toward the unpredictable when he'd been drinking. He didn’t know what to expect from his dad, and Peter had proven himself a reliably steady presence.</p>
<p>Peter nodded. “Of course, Stiles.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>man, a bunch of y'all figure out who it was! all good guesses, and congrats to those who got it right!!</p>
<p>and this chapter brings the conclusion to this 5-times fic. It's definitely been an experience (and took much longer than I'd initially planned), but I'm really glad y'all stuck with me through this!! It's been an eventful few months, and writing this has been a great way to sort of turn off the real world when it got a bit too crazy. </p>
<p>I really can't put into words how much I appreciate all of you ❤❤❤</p>
<p>the next bit probably won't be another 5-times fic, but I'm not one with the overall series, so I'll return again in the near future. see y'all soon!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this is my first shot at a 5 times fic, which is going to be interesting. It's mostly planned out already, so the next chapter should be up within the next few days (aiming for a no-longer-than-a-week interlude between chapters)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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